I will never be able to dedicate to myself. At least not right now, maybe ever, even. I keep thinking that love will find a way into my life, but I feel as if I will always show it the door. I always believe in love, but never for myself. I believe that people are only temporary. It is only a matter of time before they leave you, or you leave them, or the strength of the ties you had with them start to fade. I’ll never love simply for the fact that I love too much in one moment. Feelings of love are forever, not the people. People aren’t forever.

Therefore, I devote myself to me, if I can’t to someone else. I devote my life to books, writings, good recipes, hugs in which I can still feel afterward, and smiles. I devote myself to education, my dreams, my nightmares, my sore feet, and my aching heart. I devote myself to happiness, to self-improvement, to falling and to rising. I will devote myself to the world and its wonders, its mysteries, its treasures. I’m in love with conversations, the world, fictional characters, shapes and colors, the way the sky changes, and the way people shift and adapt.

I am drawn to all the wrong things, and then I juggle between the fact that I want good in my life and yet I do anything but so. I will never fall for a boy that is good for me, and even if he were to fall for me too, I’d find a way around it. I always find a way around everything. My intentions never make sense. Love never makes sense to me. I never make sense. I don’t understand why boys are intrigued by me - whether it is the way I look or the persona that I have. I have recently been attracting a multitude of boys and it’s just so boring. It’s all so boring. I’m waiting for something rejuvenating, something bold. But I’d find a way to avoid that too.

At the same time, I’m searching for something familiar. I’m wondering if these dreams mean anything, if these feelings of something lost are recurring because it’s been too long since we’ve last spoken. I’m wondering if this feeling is inescapable. I’ve learned to stop being so hard of myself, most of the time. I’ve also learned that life works in patterns, but at times, it’s mostly patterns that never have any sort of direction. I’m too perceptive to the minuscule details. I think maybe I’ll try to be a little more naive, instead of always predicting the future all the time.

Usually I feel alone, but usually I ignore it or I embrace it. Sometimes I feel lonely, which is much worse than being alone. The idea of feeling lonely means that I am craving for some sort of human contact, some sort of comfort that will cheer me up from this melancholic state, because I am incapable of doing so myself. We’re the worst at taking care of ourselves. It’s true. We never want what’s best for us because we feel unworthy. It’s hard to admit that you want to be loved, especially for someone like me, because I’ve been alone my whole life. I’m not sure there was a moment in childhood or my teenage years in which I didn’t. It was constantly a time in which I had to take care of myself.

I wish I could compile some words so that all of this made sense, but I’m beginning to ramble and that’s when I know the strength of my words are starting to lose its weight. I think I miss you and I would like to fix things but I know that is bad for me and I know I shouldn’t, but I just want you to feel loved.

Funny how a voicemail triggers all these spiraling thoughts. I think I just need time to myself to fall out of this state. Give me a day or two. I think I’m going to go cook and bake and try to make sense of these feelings now.