I can see us not talking one day. Us, becoming strangers and not wanting to know the existence of another on this planet we share. Despite my attraction to you, I am contended to maintain a best friend and best friend relationship with you. But, as a despondent individual, my life is chronicled by episodes of transient happiness. The housemate was enthusiastic that I experienced this because she felt that it showed that my feelings were capable of moving on from he who must not be named. My other friend said that the events in my life play out like consecutive scenes in a Hollywood movie and I should take pride in the fact that my life is exhilarating. I don’t understand how excitement can be found in mortification. I don’t understand my friends, but they’re probably right. You made me happy for a little bit, even though knowing deep down it might end up in a specatular explosions of gossips and stress. Perhaps I should be happy about things that I know I should hate, which kind of describes my feelings about liking music by Daughtry.
