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Now is obviously not the time for country music. I'm sitting here after a very long day, so desperate for a pair of arms to be in that I'm drowning in Garth Brooks and the Dixie Chicks and just crying and crying and crying.

It's a very twitty thing to do, I know. Most sane people would call up a friend and seek some comfort. Some would go rent a good sappy movie and spend the night with popcorn and fuzzy slippers, being healthy about their bad mood. I'm just sitting here frustrated as hell with tears running down my face.

I don't want to make a secret of things anymore. This has become a "happy" diary, while my livejournal is now the place where I dump my angst. This is ridiculous. If I can't express myself here, where the hell can I do it? I am unhappy. And it's because of one of those unfixable type reasons.

It's not even him, specifically. It's him, and everyone before him. It's every night I've had like this one, every time I wanted someone to read my mind, every time I said "it's nothing" and I wanted someone to not believe me.

I wanted someone to grab me by the shoulders and say "I'm not letting go until you tell me what's wrong." I wanted someone to wrap me up tight against their chest until my joints cracked and just hold and hold and hold.

Same song, new verse. I could go back to the beginning like Anna and tell my life from about fourth grade on, but it would be the same story over and over again, with different characters and an ever-growing sense of desperation.

I hate being a happy person. Being so basically resilient that I never let myself just let go and disappear. I hate that it's so easy to cheer me up. I hate that I can never hold on to a real live emotion long to say it's legitimate. They just come and go, and with every repetition I feel stupid and fake because hey, I was smiling five minutes ago, right?

Tonight I just want to scream at someone. Anyone. Everyone. Everyone who ever walked past believing they could do better.

"Don't you see how much I could love you? Don't you see? How deep this heart is, how much it would give and give and forgive and how good I could make things for you?

Don't you see how my waist could fit into your arm? Don't you see how I could tuck my head into your shoulder and lean into you? Don't you see how my hair could be soft around your fingers, my laugh tickling your neck, my voice singing you to sleep? Don't you see how I could lift my chin into you so willingly, how my lips would be so soft and scared but entirely yours?

Don't you see how I'd let you do what you wanted, let you have your space because I need mine too, just as long as I knew there was someone with which to close the gap sometimes? Don't you see how we could sit in silence and still be communicating, how we could be alone but not lonely? Don't you see how it wouldn't have to be forever, how it could just be a while... a simple, gentle thing, a season, but something we could have instead of waiting for?

Don't you see how much I could love you? You just have to look at me. You have to give me a chance to show you how happy I could make you. You have to look at me. Me, not the girl next to me. Not the one on the horizon. Not the painting. Not the movie screen. The living, breathing, reaching one right in front of you."

It's probably a good thing I'm not with anyone right now. No telling what I'd put up with in exchange for someone who told me it was possible, someone willing to spend even five minutes on me.

This entire entry disgusts me for its desperation, its "Please treat me like shit; I'll let you." But why am I always so embarrassed when I feel bad? Why do I seem to think it's not allowed for me to be unhappy, like it's something shameful or weak? Why did I keep running back stage every time I felt my eyes well up, for once grateful for the darkness with Paul sitting five feet away? He would sit on the couch and innocently talk about things, not knowing that I didn't have a cold, not knowing that I wasn't just blending makeup under my eyes, thinking the glimmer on my face was from angel glitter, nothing else.

Or else he's just really tactful. Love that boy.

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