While watching Watchmen I burst into tears during Dan Dreiberg's dream sequence when he and Laurie are kissing and the atomic blast hits. The tears precisely started when they incinerated and all you could see were their skeletons, still in embrace.
This is what I believe and am nearly convinced of: there is no "one" for me. There is no Other for me. I will walk the streets and sit in rooms and lay in bed alone, save for pets here and there. I can't imagine a person that would want me as their one; such a person is unimaginable. Beyond imagination. Well, mine. I'm a load. I'm a lot to take in and deal with. I'm a lot to handle. And who would take that on?
I would love to have someone to be incinerated with. Sounds hilarious and morbid, but there it is. I would love to have that person that shares mutual treasuring and cherishing. Not in a sappy golden retriever way; in a the-apocalypse-is-nigh-but-I'm-okay-because-there's-you-and-me type way. I just can't feature it. I may have success and a house and a vehicle, but I don't believe I will have that love. I have felt this way since my adolescence hit, I believe. When I was of elementary age, I was sure that I would. Something like my parents, only tailor-suited to me. But I'm so unlucky and loserish and ignored in love, that I don't see it changing. I'm trying to get myself to be okay with it. And I thought I was. But more and more I feel that I need someone to hold me. I need to be kissed. I need someone to be my partner in crime and non-crime. If you are, and whoever you are, I miss you.
I'm feeling more and more like the spinster aunt, the Unclaimed Treasure as Aunt Florence would say. As she was. I will probably be. I have to get to be okay with that.
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