no. 3

Sex.

Great, now I have your attention. But now I don't really know why I felt I needed it in the first place.

I wish I could write something poetic or deep about it. I wish I wasn't just sitting at my computer, staring onto the blank white screen in front of me in a loss for words. I wish I could think of something witty or sarcastic to write for you to slyly smirk at. I wish that this wasn't giving me war flashbacks.

I wish I could go back and change everything in my life that I accociated with "love". It's never brought me anything good. Always trouble. Pain. Abandonment. Yet, I'm addicted to it.

Now I sound like a masochist. But I guess that's what love made me. I guess that's what it made all of us, or else we wouldn't keep trying it again and again for sick pleasure. 

I think we are all just trying to find someone who we can give ourselves too, and who in return can give us an emotional (and for some maybe ever a literal) orgasm. Isn't that all we want? Don't we just want to feel the rush of knowing someone is there, that they care? That we matter to at least one person?

Well if you don't, I do. 

I thought I found someone who cared once.

They didn't.

They left.

But I cared.

I still do.

Sex.

Your addicted masochist,

Charles Darnell.