The symptoms of this life. Fatal flaws in the machinery. Obsessions. Addictions. Libido desires reeking havoc on friends and family.

In my younger days I would **** anything that was willing. Body types and race and gender were irrelevant. Insertion was all that mattered. Perversion was all I was after. And now, all I want is intimacy. The feelings associated with a comfortable, healthy relationship. Love and lunacy.

They go hand and hand.

And it’s been far too long since my eyes touched her face.

Since her fragrance dominated my air.

Since I **** cared.

Melodrama.

You wanna punch me in the face?

Bring it on. I welcome the pain.

But do me a favor first? Yes, I know you don’t own me ****. But play along, wont ya?

Go look in the mirror. Let your eyes sink into your reflection. Trace the lines around your eyes. Let your vision absorb the image as if it was the first time you ever saw yourself.

And just who the **** do you think you are?

If I took away the most important thing in your life. If I was your God. And I took it. Away.

Would you understand better?

Forget that.

Remember this.

I fell in love with a woman I knew I had absolutely no chance of ever having a life with. I fought it. I threatened myself. I went on a hunger strike and I took drugs and I flipped my middle finger at every single person in my entire radius.

But I am who I am.

Melodramatic. The kind of guy that’s not afraid to love and not afraid to be heard and not afraid to be punched in the face because someone else doesn’t comprehend.

Look at yourself in that mirror and I want you to remember what it was like to be in love. Remember what it was like to worship and obsess and dream and want and need and spend every waking moment caring about nothing else in the entire **** world.

If you’ve never been there than you don’t know what your missing. If you’ve never been there than you shouldn’t be reading my story. If you’ve never been there than I am really sorry.

You’ve never been alive.

Alyssa hasn’t come home. I don’t know if she ever will. And if she does, I don’t know if she will ever love me like I love her.

But what else is there? You want me to get over it? Move on? Forget?

You can go to hell.

Reserve a room for me. I’ll be there shortly to have a drink with you.

Because I’m at the end of my rope and this knot is tight.

Soon the air will cease and my vision will blur and my toes will curl and my lungs will shrivel and tiny digits of light will explode inside my head.