i've decided that i have two major flaws. i'm not suggesting that they are my only major flaws; these two have just made themselves considerably apparent over the past few days. they both deal with love; emotionally, platonically, and also intellectually. i suppose my statement of realization implies that i must take action to correct them, but i doubt it's really possible. rather i find that my statement here is simply comparable to a recognition of the works of the world, of the gaps in the scenery and the blocks missing in the sky. i'd walk under it even if i could see through the holes; i'd fall into the ditches as well as if i hadn't seen them. i am outside my own life and i'm merely describing what i observe.

i fall in love through the transitive property. sorry; you were right. it's not right. i shouldn't fall in love because i love you love him. but i do. and it's not fair. but, as i said, this isn't completely about men. i love you love books. i love you love music. i love you love opinions. there's just an obvious problem with those sentences: they leave no sentiment within me. they leave me empty, and maybe that's why i'm so dead to feel. apathia, aphasia, athambia, all are me; i'm full of for reasons unknown but time will tell as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattman quaquaquaqua the skull fading fading fading...

i fall in love from behind glass windows. my mind is behind my eyes, my thoughts are behind my perceptions, my passions are behind my fear. i've literally felt myself in love through a window; i've felt myself watch and wish, watch and wish. oftentimes if i look through the glass hard enough, i can eventually see myself looking through the glass at myself looking through the glass at myself. it's like emotionally standing between two mirrors: when you look at the infinite reflections, you start to wonder which is the real one and doubt that it might be you. this is me in love. one reflection loves one, one reflection loves another, one reflection loves another, and one reflection dies. parts of my soul fall to the ground every time one dies, until half of my face is missing, half of my heart is missing. with each one gone, my capacity for love diminishes, as if fate itself was imbibing my liquid captivation. once again i'm empty. i'm a drained vessel, a soulless observer, as transparent as the glass i look through. perhaps the windows look through me, and i'm the unnecessary middleman.

these are my flaws laid out as plainly as i can offer them. the deepest hope that resides within me is the hope that i can fill the gap they create with existential meaning someday, that maybe in that landscape with holes in the sky and ditches in the earth, i can walk in mid air, therefore nullifying any troubles from above or below. maybe, though i said i recognize that this is only a statement, not a resolution. this is no promise to grow, this is only as understanding as to why i falter, why oftentimes my soul shatters or my body caves in, why i am not yet a real person.