so it's, what, 3.27 a.m. and i'm sitting in front of this god damned computer not knowing exactly what in the world is wrong with me. you wouldn't be surprised, sometimes, from the way that I write, that I'd be the type of guy, that horribly cliched character out of a movie, who wakes up with a start in the middle of the night after having some horrible nightmare, that my worst fears have somehow managed to come true. But no, I don't do that. I sleep like a baby. Heck, I sleep like a log. My life's perfectly fine, dandy and fine.

Then, why, oh why does it always feel like there's something missing? The feeling's so strong, it manages to confuse me most of the time. It just seems so wrong, to have felt and said all those things and to not end up, wind up with that storybook ending. Futility to the power of infinity, squared. But no, that's just crazy talk, because you know that's just the worst part of you talking, the part that you yearn to keep hidden but yearns to show itself.

Maybe it's just much stronger than usual, because you lack the only thing that can bring out the best part of you, because it's been gone for so long. I mean, there're only so many people who catch sunbeams in their hair and stars in their smile.

Gosh, I'm just rambling here.