Slowly it mounts.

I don't like feeling vulnerable. I blurt out things i intend to keep to myself.

January 6 : I said we will have a fight.
Earlier, i told you how i always manage to convince people that they dont like me. Without them realising my active role. It's eerie, how i'm always right.
"Just a friend" is not enough, you think. To me, it can never be "just" one. You are wrong.
It was as intimate, as you could get with me. You never realised that, did you ? You always wanted more, aspired to grab more. No. Firmly I say. I decide what i want to share. If you have a problem with that, then go fuck off. If you can take me for what i have to offer, and no false pretensions about what i choose not to offer, then, then you deserve me. "I wish that had a consequence" you say. You have the consequence in front of you. Either live with it, or reject it and move on.


When i'm at my most vulnerable, it's curious how seemingly nondescript things help me. Talking about school. Drinking hot milk. With Bournvita. What disconcerts me ? Recalling conversations that remind me of long forgotten things. Reliving some moments and looking at them, now unhappily.


I shy away from people at these moments. Finally, i may have found your cure. Brooding doesn't help, we knew. But talking to oneself, it does, in a way. Then talking to others some. Then ending abruptly and going back to writing. Maybe its still not a cure. A temporary analgesic, like you said.

Why is it that people take my concern for love? I mean, it is love, but not the kind they construct it to be. I love you. I'm not in love with you. Is it that hard to accept it? Is it really so rare? This love? It comes to me as the most natural thing in the world. Does it not, to you?