Consider yourself one of my best friends/Consider yourself one of my enemies

It's been ages since I've last written anything akin to my thoughts in this somewhat barren blog of mine. Despite the desolate solace that it offers for both my mind, my thoughts, and more often times than I would like, my heart, I feel like what I try to keep at bay is slowly seeping through the cracks of my psyche.

As of late, my time is preoccupied of thoughts I know I could never afford to think of, yet my brain insists that I do. Even in the midst of things such as my internship, my cat, and throes of bipolar moments, I find myself constantly thinking.

Thinking of her.

and also thinking of her.

I should know better. I've been through what I could somewhat deem the worst, yet here I am still struggling against the unending torrent of beautiful disasters that comprises my life. I know that all this thinking will get me nowhere, and all the hopes that are stored well within where light cannot reach, will bear me no good deed.

I should know better.

But I don't. and I never do. Nor do I believe that I will in the near future. She does not like her. In fact, I suppose a lot of people that are around me don't like her because of all the smoke and mirrors that have happily erected themselves around the topic that was whatever we were -- if there ever was a name for whatever that transpired between us. On the other hand, she has no idea of the existence of her; or so I think.

Somehow, in this twisted, malignant, out-to-personally-get-me-and-screw-my-life-a-thousand-times-over universe, I still cannot begin to fathom as to why I give an actual fuck about her. She is almost out to get her, just because of me -- yet somehow, I worry for her.

The worst part is I still actually care about her. She doesn't know I do, and I'd rather that it stays like so.

I don't know. It's probably just me creating a fail-safe, trampoline to land on since I know very well that no matter how close I come with her, I know in my soul that I am no longer an option for her -- and she, to me as well. I suppose that line was crossed seven years ago, and that I am just merely chasing after ghosts that never really got to haunt anything substantial other than my ailed, multi-emotional heart. They were merely shadows cast father than they should have been, as the light of the stage of the life of the woman whose story never has an ending drops lower and lower, casting shadows far taller than their masters.

I can never choose her. Each time I have, I'm left with shards that gradually decrease in size as each chapter draws to a close between her and I. The last thing I need are shards far too small to piece back together again.

As for her, I can't quite muster the correct words to utilize in this particular moment, to enlighten whoever is reading, I suppose I could just say that I never had a decision to make to begin with. She was, in a sense, a tornado in her own right. I suppose I could say I was just helplessly dragged into her own little universe filled with things that are sometimes far too complex for my own.

Or maybe I jumped into the fray. Maybe.