This is the part where I disappear. Because a year-and-a-half is up. Because history repeats itself. Because I can never keep anything I love.

Despite what they say, I know how it goes. I know this game. I know this review.

The bottom line is, I'm alone again. Like I'll always be. Like I've always been.

But it doesn't matter. Concentrate on finals and papers, I suppose. And then...something else mundane.

"What do you want?" asks the traveller.
And the sibyl replied: "I want to die."

If I jump from 100 feet up, will it feel like flying? No. Probably more like vertigo and I get enough of that without being so high off the ground.

I've got to get out of this. That's what that was referring to. Get out of this, so I'm talking to people and taking action, although only James has an idea about it. He says it's the best thing I can do. Because any way I choose, I'll feel guilty. This is the one where I'll end up feeling the least. Maybe it's selfish. He says no, he'd do the same. But I guess that's because we're both sick of carrying everyone else's burdens as if they're our own. We will, nevertheless, just not as much.

Speaking of vertigo, we went on an adventure last night and climbed to the top of the library. We found a door left open, probably inadvertently by some maintenance guys, and climbed up. The view was spectacular. We could see the whole city from way up there. I couldn't go near the edge unless I was crawling, though. He, of course, was all over the ledges. But the drop was straight down ridiculous 60 feet or more. I think it's more. He thinks it's 60. I climbed a ladder to a tower on the roof to get higher. I was shaking but the view was worth it. I held onto him and then it was all right.

The accomplishment was climbing down. I climbed down. I almost froze, but I climbed down and lookie, lookie. I'm still alive.

Everything looks so small and you feel so big from up there. The water was frozen up there but it wasn't on the ground, so just imagine how high we were. It makes me think of God. God is cold and omniscient and...lonely. What else could it be but lonely?

Now I don't feel as bad. But it's the same thing. We're all alone together and lonely apart.

Figures, don't it?

I lost all hope in humanity a while ago. I kept pretending I didn't. But I'm through with that now. I'm through with that because I'm sick of all the lies. I'm sick of all the people saying they'll be there forever and dropping off the face of the earth.

So fuck all of you. I'm done with that shit.

Go back to your good life.

Now I wonder why I bother writing this piece of crap. It doesn't matter anyway and you'll all forget me a second later. I'm used to your lies so don't try to protest. Don't try to protest. It makes me puke.

If I jump from over 100 feet up, do you think it'll feel like flying? No, but I'll get over the acrophobia and then life, too. That's where we all end up, so what's the difference?

Decision

It's torture to watch her sobbing like this, partly because I semi-know how it feels, partly because I feel it projected onto myself. I feel the walls go up around my emotion saying "It is not worth all the pain to discover true, human emotion." It is not worth this.

I'm used to loneliness and the walls around it are steadfast. Because happiness is an illusion and I won't believe a lie no matter how much it smacks of and acts in truth.

Thus I am disillusioned. Of course I only speak of friends because that hurts enough as it is--but to open myself up to more than that, that's self-mutilation of a sort. And what? To lose something great, because in the end I'll lose. So yes, I prevent myself from gaining.

I sacrifice momentary happiness for myself, and perhaps for another, to save us from this. In this case, I'm not just watching her lose a lover, but her best friend in the world.

I've already done that thrice and none of them were lovers. Just imagine if one had been...I remember the one that hurt the most; I remember what I did. I doubled over on the floor under the bed, my knees tucked under me, my forehead pressed to the floor rocking, rocking, rocking for hours until I'd cried six years in three hours and destroyed myself back to a ghost.

I never got him back, really, even though he still hangs around.

Then I tried and trusted again--another lie.

So now I run away from the moment.

Do you understand? I can't take this pain anymore, this trickery of bliss for a solitary kiss.

So I run away from the moment so that I'm in control.

It's time to be alone again. I'm sorry. I've learned my lesson too many times and I still tried trusting again. But I won't get back up after this one, so I'm leaving before I fall at all.

I'm sorry. I'm a solitary soul. I content myself with make-believe and it keeps me surviving. But the real is not just real happiness for a second--it's torture, perpetual.

I will stand by the constant, dull throb of loneliness in place of this.

Because I know what I'm in for.

Take your moment back. There's someone beautiful out there for you and you deserve her.

You deserve her.

Can't you see that you deserve that beautiful girl, whoever she happens to be? She's the one who make syou laugh and cry, who gives you sight when you need it and blindness when you need it, who you feel separate from and a part of no matter what--inextricably intertwined.

You deserve her, that one there, that beautiful girl.

But it hurts too much for me, so I run away from the moment. It's too late to let somebody love me, so I turn my face unto the wall and it all comes together.

The angel's there, my loyal companion of fantasy.

I gave it all up tonight listening to her weeping, mourning the end of the best friendship she ever had.

Maybe I would've liked to know the taste of it. But I got the aftertaste beforehand and the virgin sip is never worth the consequence.

"Better Than Stars" it reads. He says it's the trees. But I think there's double meaning there.

The truth is, I'm a coward. I'm a coward and I couldn't speak. At least not the right words. It was as if a hand had clenched my stomach and my throat. Physically impossible. Because I'm a coward. But I have to bring it up. I have to face it.

In the end, I won't lose anything. I'll gain knowledge. In the least.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.
He flicked his eyes up to hers for a moment before turning them down again and heaved a great sigh.
"I want your heart," he said. "I want your body...I want your soul."
"You sound like the devil," she said.
He turned his eyes to hers again and held them there.
"Maybe I am."

The world doesn't care about you. The world doesn't care about anything. The world just exists. It's not even society because that's pittance, too against the backdrop of eternity. So what would an individual matter? Why do I work so hard? It's not really for anything but self-gratification no matter how hard I try to deny it. You, too. You more than me, probably, because you stands for everyone. But where does this drive come from? From where is this ambition? I think it's from within me. I think I can't stop it. I think I'll never give up despite the disappointments, despite the let-downs, despite the spite that stabs me and encases me in its cruel bubble. In spite of it.