Dulled.

It's only been a month of school and I can feel the heaviness encroaching my summer lolzies. Suffocating fumes of winter and insecurity and food and running and muscle are approaching the corner and I hate that the cycle is rolling again. The monotony of the mechanics will be geared into motion once again. My stomach unhappily testifies to this truth.

I am tired. Sometimes I still hate myself. Most of the time I lack the mood to write in good prose and almost always my most intense thoughts whirl in the car, where I wonder if parallel universes exist in this universe and why people are so similiar. Why do the spaces between your fingers fit perfectly to mine? Just kidding. Hanky panky has not yet made its way into my clumsy questionably existent and much frowned upon romantic life.

Its so wonderful to understand. Sometimes I like people because they're so different from me, because they're fascinating anomalies in my one track mind, yet even when we are mutually interested (it happens sometimes...maybe), our diverging views are lost in distaste and confusion. Even if it was an attractive boy. Even if it was an admission officer from Yale. Sometimes even hours and hours of talking and flirting won't cut it.

But then sometimes someone comes along and grammar is forgotten. Words and thoughts and puns and  punches just reel and roll off my fingers and on some rare and blessed occasion, off my tongue, because cursed school prevents actual human encounters more often than not. Its like the God shaped hole everyone has, but a person shaped one for worldly angst and love and relationships. This is someone who could be your best friend and someone that fits like the satisfying click of a ballpoint gel pen.

It's all about the connections. When we talk I forget I hate myself. I forget to try to find the strengthening dullness and see once again how beautiful is Gods creation.