I canāt help but ask questions. Iām always curious. I want answers. Need them. I will go on my whole life trying to find them all. I can say the same thing about love. I know Iāve written about it before, I know the songs I listen to are about it, and I know my friends are sick of me bringing it up.
But I canāt help it. Itās the human experience. Itās my desire as a social creature. To be loved is a blanket statement, to categorize it all into one word, when not everybody wants romance. I am not one of those people, and they are not me.
We all want to be seen though. To be heard. To be remembered. For others to recognize us, have our names in their heads, notice our behaviors, personalities. To be accepted, and wanted. Itās what has kept the human race alive all these years.
I donāt know what Iām saying anymore. I canāt create this innate craving for romance into something beautiful. I cannot write words that take this disease and turn it into a dozen roses. This longing for a lover, for teenage love, for somebody to see me and want me and dream of me. It is killing me inside. My life is getting better by the day slowly, and I am improving. But I canāt take it. A lover, a partner, a girlfriend, a boyfriend. I just want somebody. Itās all I ask for. And it isnāt much. Everyone else has one, why canāt I?