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strongbad28705
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Name: Alex
Birthday: 2/10/1987
Gender: Male
Interests: Writting/ directing my own films. Reading Writting Frolicking Simpsons GOD and Nathan Machel.
Expertise: YOU!
Occupation: Other
Industry: Entertainment
Message: message me
AIM:  strongbad28705
Member Since:
8/26/2004
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| If you read this you must really love me. Or...you must be really lonely and bored.
Either way I think we should get married. Could be fun. Have a kid or two. Then get divorced and fight for custody of our kids, making them think it was their fault we got divorced and use them to get back at each other. Then they too will be severely scared and hurt like every other American child. Then go to therapy and deal with there emotional and mental problems.
Anyway, if you read that, you much really love me. Truly.
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| I can't play the dating scene. It's just not me. I can't just take random girls out, hold their hands, flirt with them, and give a piece of my heart. I just can't. I'm very much a committed fellow. I look more into a girl then by just physical attraction. I peer deeper, beyond the pretty face. I look at her and I say to myself, "Her I like. Her I will pursue, Not because she's a pretty face. But because there's not a face like hers that I have ever seen before. Her I will pursue, woo, and romance, not just because I want her, but because I want nothing more for her then the best that I can give her."
Yet somehow it's wrong. Somehow, it's not right. Somehow this idea of mine, this notion, this system of gears that make my heart beat, is not right. I'm not allowed to like her for who she is. I'm not allowed to pursue her for her. I'm not allowed.
I'm not allowed to be me.
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| I am afraid of people. No really. I am. Have you seen people? They're scary! Seriously.
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| I've been wondering about the difference between infatuation and love. And I've partly begun to lose the distinction between the two. But I think it may be this.
Infatuation is selfish, just as much as it is selfless. It feeds and thrives on returned affection. It grows, and swells and continues to live on the feelings returned.
But if they are not returned it dies. It may be long, or short, but eventually the desire to be the the infatuated one fades away and is no more.
As for Love, it does not fade if feelings are not returned. Rather it is Love, and the Love itself that feeds it.
It's life and purpose is solely to express great affection and an undying unexplainable fondness for the loved one.
The pain of the unrequited Love, is not it merely dying, but it is the crys, the tears, the sobs, and the anguish of not being able to express the full measure, the greatest extent, tot he largest capacity, to the passionate, unexplainable fondness of the loved one, for and to the loved one. All romantic gestures, all passionate whispers, and grand compliments fall onto deaf ears. From there Love does not get to do what Love, loves to do most.
He does not get the specific joy, the wonderful accomplishment of making the Loved smile in happiness and joy. Not because of what she does, what she wants to do, or feel like she ought to do. But simply to accomplish, what is a fairly easy task for Love to accomplish, is the unending, undying, unadulterated love for simply who she is, and nothing more. Love loves to love. And to tell Love that he can not love, is not allowed to love, must not show love, is most murderous to Love's heart.
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