Can't think of a title.

Why is it that I have this tendency to liken every aspect of my life towards movies. Is it because hollywood shows no integrity in any of the movies I watch and they always end on a positive not?Is it because I see these movies and empathise, because I too aspire to have my life on a (more?) positive note? I'd say this is definitely the main reason. 

I don't know why, but I've been feeling extremely insecure lately. It's hard to voice these insecurities because I really can't put my finger on either the root or many of the symptoms of the problem. I just wish I was whatever (whoever?) it is I want to be, I'm sure it'd make life a whole lot easier.

Well, enough of my incessant whinging, here's that longer, typed affirmation I promised you Megan:

I know I've said it before, but I sincerely believe that you should never change; here's some of the reasons why:

I know that I go a bit far with my jokes, especially those of the sexist category. There is really only one thing that really makes me stop, or at least ease up on them these days. This is my fear that for even one short moment in time that you might stop smiling and glare at me. You should be proud of this glare, it is a very useful glare.

There are not many people in this world that I can talk literature to, and to have someone like you who not only knows of writers but has also read some of their works makes me feel a lot less isolated. Especially when I can so effortlessly change the author of our focus from Austen to Rowling (I've said it before, but I really do like that).

A lot of downright miserable stuff has happened to you lately, and I want you to know that you're an amazing person and as such do not deserve these things. But I also know that you're a strong willed, independent and beautiful person; so if anyone can power through these things, it's you.

If it were not for my male intellect, clouded by my sex drive, I'm quite sure that I could be perfectly content with friendship.

But I am what I am and  cannot hope for anymore.

blahblahblahblahblahblah

 I am sad. 

That is all.

Yeh bro, I feel it.

Upon taking the plunge I realised a moment too late that happiness was not at the bottom of the drop, but high above me upon some unreachable pedestal. At this moment in time it seems unattainable.

Nietzche, I know not of the reason I listened to your deceptively optimistic works. 

I shall now console myself with the works of Schopenhauer. His cynical and pessimistic attitude may not be romantic, but is certainly a little more realistic than the crap Nietzche made me believe.

In the words of Adam Sandler: 

"Love stinks."

Get back.

Nietzche philosophised that man can not have both great pleasure and little disappointment. Both pleasure and pain are intertwined in unfathomable ways, he says.

To derive the most pleasure from life, we must also bear the burden of disappointment, rejection and loss. 

For those of us who fear these things (especially if it is to an extent that it impacts upon our risk taking measures) we will be spared much of the atrocities of love. We will also, however, be ignorant of the many joys of a real relationship.

I am stuck somewhere between these two extremes; skirting the boundaries of risk yet always ending up safe inside my own conservative world.

Why can I not just step off this isolated ledge into what could very well be the happiness I long for?

Yahyahyahyahyahyahay

It is unfair that she is so wonderful and I am so normal. I do not, however, want her to change in any aspect whatsoever. All the change I want needs to come from myself and myself alone. I want to change only so that I can make her happy, so that she too may feel whatever the hell it is I am feeling right now. This is the vicious circle I am trapped in.

I revel in every slight hint of affection she shows me; be it the slightest of smiles, a trivial glance towards me or the far and few occasions that our eyes meet. If only I could feel as great as I do at these moments all the time.

Rejection.

I’m sure she wouldn’t be scared if I told her I liked her, I doubt that she’d even be surprised. Something is holding me back though, and I know what it is: a deep seated fear of rejection. There is nothing worse than being told that your love shall never be fulfilled and shall always remain unrequited.

I do not want this in the slightest.