Word.

"Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you're wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn't love you anymore."-Lady Gaga

Holding it out in times of famine, with hearts spent and eyes in strange hues of bloodshot. Those are but images, outside there is strength. There are resolves to go on, to keep moving, to be as the world is. To be something, just don't lose. Carry on, what are you waiting for?
No, nothing really matters, and nothing is ever worth that much. But there are so many ironies in saying that, because if it's inconsequential, then why pour your soul into it? Why lose what little you have saved? It could be anything, anyone. Irreplaceable is not a possibility or an option; in fact, options open- it's what we're all about, isn't it? It's the pain of losing things that catch you with a slow, surprising tingle, and make you feel alive again. It's that, excuse the cliche, magic, so to speak. But as surprising as it is at its onset, the excruciatingly deliberate way it takes a toll is anything but a walk in the park. Everything but that. You know why it's easy to watch sandcastles wash away? Because they're just that. Sandcastles. You build them so the water will sweep them into itself. And no matter how long you spend, it's never forgotten how transient they are.
What I'm talking about now.. this? This is not a sandcastle. It could be a mirage. An oasis, imagined of course. Definitely not a castle of something that washes away with ease and grace.
This right here is dirty. There's a reason no one ever talks about it. It's uncomfortable to think of it gone wrong. It is unbearable. Torturous. So you push and you push and you push it away, all the way to the back of your head.
But this isn't a hundred dollar note you'd thought you had lost, and then one day found in some pocket of some jeans you wore six months ago. Oh no. There is nothing pleasant about the stark realization that there is nothing but you. You are the only reason you exist, and you are selfish, alone- but it is all about you. But then you're cut up into these pieces you can't reconcile yourself to. They cut into parts that are absolute secrets, but how do you keep something from yourself?
Never had much of a penchant for painting things rosy. No, sir.

And here's to unexpected apologies, and none from where they should be coming.

It's strange to explain. Even to feel. You can see the lights dimming as you walk by, and you can see your feet shuffling on automatically in the directions they've been taught to walk. You can eat, chew, swallow- and have no idea of what you just did. Because this dimming, it doesn't just limit itself to the streetlamps. It's wrapped itself around your heart, and now everything is pale. Withering and pale. Spring is around the corner, but this chill in your bones- it won't go away.
There are no stories in eyes this blank. There are no words for hearts this dim. Every time some hint of coherent thought tries to push its way in, your head spins. The world spins, your legs threaten to give way. So you don't think.
But then, when you're sitting. When you are alone, you wonder if you made the right choices. You wonder if you should've stayed. There were only two things to do. It would have been a leap of faith either way, and you chose one. But now, when you're alone and empty, you just wonder if it was right. You had always known that some things would be left behind. But in your ignorance, you didn't know at what cost. And in what ways.
 And ironically, the only quotes that you can quote are words said by those who walked away. You will always be alone. Alone in lonely.

The thing with love is, it can make you feel powerful even when you aren't. And then it drags you down, further than you ever expected it to, and leaves you in the gutter. Shattered illusions are an understatement.
That is the thing with it. Yep.

So very tired.
I am cold down to the last bone in my body. I might as well be standing in the storm raging outside. Cold, weary and wondering. When am I ever going to be good enough to be worth something?
Oh well.

The loneliest kind of restlessness is spent thinking about the past. When you look around yourself, and see how far you've come from all of that, pride isn't all that's on your mind.