she says there's lots of pebbles on the beach.

but there's more sand than pebbles.

and i want this pebble.

everything's falling down around me. can i pick up the pieces and build it back up? or are parts of it irreplaceable, i need to get rid of them and build something from scratch?

i feel like maybe, just maybe, i could convince myself that this is the will of god. i've strayed from him, and these are the repercussions. mediocre grades, rocky relations with my family, failed and failing relationships. and if i can let go of it, let go of my sin, repent, and come back to god, things'll get better. i can live a happy life and seek his will for me and he'll show me what to do and things'll be better. better than this.

i could be happy. convince myself that this relationship is bad, wasn't god's will. look forward to another relationship that is his will. listen to my parents more, apply myself harder at school and believe he's helping me. seek his direction and believe i'm finding it.

but, no. i can't quite. i feel like i'm escaping. just because shit sucks doesn't mean god is doing this to me. and i don't know how to truly, honestly believe it so that i can be happy with it. nor can i shake the fear that i might miss something important. be too smart to just accept but not smart enough to realize that i'm wrong, and it is true.

so, everything's falling down around me. and the places in which i usually find solace offer me none. am i just alone? aren't we all, in a sense, just alone?

i used to wonder how two people could possibly like each other. out of all the other people out there, two people coincidentally liking each other. but it's not so ridiculous. there's shared experiences, similar personalities that lead people to like each other. maybe what's more ridiculous is for them to truly love each other. to truly love each other and never look at some one else and think "maybe i would've been happier with him."

love is partly a decision. you can't just...decide to love someone. but, if you've loved them in the past, and something happens to fuck it up, you can either decide to give up and quit or decide to continue loving them and work through it. because of what you had. so you can get it back.

but maybe if you just really liked this person, it's not worth it. maybe what you had wasn't so great at all. and you haven't made a commitment to each other yet, so... it's better to just give up and try and start somewhere fresh. maybe you'll be happier with someone else. maybe it won't matter. maybe you would've been happier with this person, but it never reached that point so it doesn't matter to consider it.

all i know is that it hurts like hell to lose something, hurts worse than anything else i've been through in my sheltered life. this exact something that i will very probably never have back. and i'm gonna try and hold on to it as tight as i can, exhaust all my options until i can convince myself it couldn't work out.

but maybe it's just life. you can't suffer continually just to make someone else happy. i can't even be a christian to appease my parents. i'm either going to truly believe and be one, or not, and that'll be a deep, deep wound. i can only expect someone to try for so long before deciding it's not worth it, that it's not gonna happen. and then i have to let it go. let it fucking hurt.

eventually i'll get over that hurt.

people get over it all the time.

it's not the end of the world. quite possibly it's for the best.

i used to want to be independant. i could be independant. never hold myself accountable to anyone else, never try to love them. my life could be all my own. i'd still love my family, but it's a different sort of love. i could, travel the world, never worry about having kids, my life could be all my own. it's kinda selfish, but hey, it's not so bad, as long as i'm still trying to be a good person.

but, knowing what it's like to have that one person who you share everything with, that one person you want to make happy, that one person who comforts you and tries to make you happy, i'm not sure if i could do it anymore. on those lonely nights i would remember and cry bitterly to myself over something i once had.

it's not the end of the world. there's plenty of other fish in the sea as they say. at least one of them has to compare right? hell, one of them has to be better. i can get over it and move on and find that one that's better and do it right and we'll be all the happier.

right?

but right now i hurt so bad and i feel so alone.

so i've decided what i want to do with my life. get rich, buy some secluded mansion, and live out the rest of my life as an eccentric recluse surrounded by a gabillion chickens and my cat lei lei. and i'll paint and draw all day long and the entirety of my social life will exist on the internet. maybe that doesn't make me quite a recluse, but close enough. it's easier not to care about people if you only ever meet them online. and i can live out a billion imaginary lives through writing stories and maybe even convince myself that they're more real than my reality. die early, and then the world can discover my art and stories and be hailed a literary genius. my stuff might not be that great. but everything's better after the artist is dead.

when you die, if you think you're going to heaven but all there really is is nothingness, it doesn't really matter. you could die with hope and never have to know you were wrong.

do something stupid.

maybe it'll come back to bite you in the ass later. or maybe even it'll make something work out for the better.

the suspense is what'll kill me.

i have so many things i want to say, to furiously type down into a journal entry, a blog entry. rehearsed them all in my head, one thing after another, but now that this keyboard lies wait in front of me, they fade into thin, wispy strands of thought. not quite as coherent or complete as they once were. i want to take a recording of my mind, corral those thoughts into a place that i can access easily at my will, rather than relying on unstable memories of unstable thoughts, which always seem as if they were better the first time i thought them. (maybe they really aren't. ha)

you compared me to a marble, bouncing heedlessly off vanishing walls of emotion. i had a hard time being insulted, i thought the imagery was kinda good. (ha) but maybe i'm not so much a marble, as a canvas with a painting. too often i let passersby pick up their own paintbrushes of emotion and feeling and thought and change a little bit of my painting to make them a little bit happier about the picture they're seeing. i think it's no big deal, i can scrape off their paint later and have my original back, to change how i see fit.

but can i?

or will my painting loose itself under the brush strokes of others and begin to exist only as an everchanging landscape to please the viewer? make them a little bit happier for a little bit of time?