So, I got to thinking today that maybe I'm a coward. For the past ten days, I have written six blogs, mostly about one subject, and I unleashed them all today on the person they're about. And I got to thinking that maybe I was a coward because instead of sitting her down and getting her drunk enough for me to go through each of these issues with her, I write them down in blogs and then let her read them. Sort of like an ambush, but not really.
In my defense, I wrote a majority of them when she was out of town. That's primarily what led to me writing the blogs again; having things on my mind and not wanting to convey them to her while she was so far away having fun.
There's a song that I'm hooked on right now, and in it is a line that goes, "a mi, lo que me da rabia es de no saber lo que sientes." Translated, that means, "For me, what irks me is not to know what you feel." And I guess what all my ranting and raving has been for the past few days is for her to read, and to ellicit some reaction from her.
I don't know what will make me happy, but I know what I want.
I know what I want, but I don't know how to get it.
I know how to get it, but what do I do with it afterwards.
The lies I tell myself.
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