Is love not a waste of time? Seriously though. Not the act of planning and being active in love, but the very hope of it. The dream that the person you walk in with will be a lifelong companion, either through the ages or just for a breath. Is this silly? Yes. But for someone of logic and gacha. This just feels hopeless to keep searching for. I’d have a better chance pulling a Golden Ticket out of a deck of cards 5 times in a row.

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Maybe I’m just a nerd. Maybe I don’t seem interested. I have seen miraculous things—luck-based and not. Truly, how many things have I seen that have been by my own luck, and not God’s blessings or miracles? This shall replace that graveyard of thoughts. Enraptured and torn by love… maybe, where I am isn’t so bad.

 

♪ Now playing — No.1 Party Anthem — Arctic Monkeys ♪

 

Y’know?

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Maybe this might not be the “unforgettable high school experience” I had hoped for—I had believed, but… it was my high school experience. 

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It didn’t have the lights on the floor, the conversations, the friends, the moment I was hoping for, but I had something. It had the loneliness, the longing for love, the possible hope of a ruined night—that just believed. There was no girl. But, there was sweat, there was the near vomit, and that taste of bleeding metal; there were unwise decisions in the form of Redbull and popcorn for supper. The post-party crash, the depression, the itching feeling of regret. It was all these. I did look… I did try… but there were no eyes meeting. There was no romance, no dance, no time of the century. A bachelor’s party. Were we fools who didn’t try? Yes. But this will be a time, a moment, of rose-glazed glasses.

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I’m happy to be alive. It’s moments like these where being there is just a memory of the past, an abandoning of the younger self. I miss him. I’ll never get him back, because simply existing is to kill you in the present, for he no longer exists.

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Perhaps, this is why I’m drawn to the pink, the cute, the dainty. Such a lonely bastard—so old but young. If I were, I would marry that old soul, for who else is similar to me than me? Who likes similar things as me? Marry that dreaming mind. Peace, beauty, of the natural, and the impossible. Get drunk. Drunk out of my mind. Not on the foreign drink, but on that delicious taste of pain—that cocktail of emptiness. Oh, you lovely bird, you’re so pretty. Pick me up and haul my stupid ass home. Bawling all that drive back, what could you do? Hiccup, a giggle, jeez, what am I doing? 

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But this is the moment! The moment of reparation. The timeless love of the century. All it took was a shot of you.