I've been trying to write something meaningful for awhile, but I haven't really found my inner peace to expose something real. People say to write when your emotions are raw; that hurts too much. I digs too deep and it's too much for me to handle.

I haven't been happy for awhile now. There are flickers of the happy flame, but it always blows out before it gets strong enough to burn on its own. I'm at the stage where I'm realizing that I'll always be alone.

My desire to be loved is strong, but my desire to be understood is much more than that. No one really understands me. People don't have time to. And I'll admit, I'm not the easiest person to accept. I'm crazy. But I'd appreciate a willingness to try to get to know me. But again, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I don't think I'll ever meet someone who will understand and love me for who I am.

Alone. I need to understand that. I'm in this bed alone. I'm alone in this body. Alone is the flaw of the soul.