serenade Farool Mi ami, estoy preocupado, Porque, no estas en mis brazos. Estas en tu cama, Lejos de mi casa, Eres bonita, pero, No me quieres. Pero tu a mi, no tenemos confianza, Tenemos miedo de dependencia, Tenemos amour contiga, Tenemos no amour conmigo, Tienes ojos azules y magnificos, Pero, no me amas. No me quieres. No me amas. No te gusta. Eres apatica. 060109 ... Harlequin Je suis allee le monde. Je dis, "Je t'aime," Mais tu ne crois pas moi. Pourqoui, mon ami? 060109 ... Farool Fuck. Fucking hell. Mon amie, lo siento. Je suis desolee. I'm just a little . . . not out of it . . . not out of my element . . . I'm just feeling really strange. Mon amie, my shrink thinks I might have anger management issues. Which might sound weird. But I don't know. I sure as hell don't deal with it the right way. That's all, mon amie, the ramblings of a batshit fucking loco emo kid. This horrible mood I'm in, it's just me not dealing with the outside world right. It's a cognitive problem. I see things and my mind shapes them into distorted shadows, changed by my higher-than-thou principles and standards. I'm pretty sure nine in ten doctors would agree that I don't see the world quite like anyone else. This serenade, this bruise, these memories, they're all my bad. I fucked up. I messed up. I know that it might sound weird, but I really don't know what to do right now. I'll lay it out for you. No one is perfect. Mon amie, my crisis on the cruise, that was me realizing it, then kicking myself. Who am I to judge you? You, the person that's with me, this saint. Who am I to accuse her? I'm not gonna bite the hand that feeds me. Then why did those things go wrong? Well . . . it wasn't her. Let's blame something else . . . I know! So I started to kick myself every time I frowned, which made me frown more. When I was with you, and you were with me, I was on cloud nine. The rest of the time it kinda sucked. And by kinda sucked I mean it really really really sucked. So . . . I don't quite know what happened next. I'm not . . . fuck. I'm going to try this again. Mon amie, je t'aime. I'm sorry, but my doubts got the better of me and I did the wrong thing. I should've sent this to California friend. I shouldn't've written it at all. Mon amie, I'm sorry. I'm too possessive. I'm too clingy. I don't know what to do now. You rock. You really really fo' reals do. . . Fuck. Take three. Kendra, you're . . . Fuck. Take four. ... Take five. ... Take six. ...I can't believe that I wrote that mon amie, it was the wrong thing to do. I was impatient. I wanted too much. I wanted to have my cake and eat it too. Mon amie, it's not your fault when I make an impossible assumption. I don't want your life to be any more complicated than it is, so I'm going to put my insecurities on the back burner, where they belong. I . . . Oh man, I can't even write. Take seven. Mon amie, I doubted you because I am a possessive ass. I am a shallow prick. I am an insecure psychophant. I am a . . . Fuck. Take eight. Take nine. Fuckit. Fuckitfuckitfuckitfuckit. I don't really know what to say. I was talking to the Madame and she said something a little . . . painful. It wasn't meant as an accusation, but that's what it felt like. So I just crashed. My mood went from singing as I was walking home to hiding myself in the fetal position and almost sobbing. I'm a little shaken up right now. I'm a little . . . I don't know. I shouldn't have taken my frustration with Chez out on you. I was angry for her apathy during spanish, her apathy last night, her apathy. All of her fucking apathy. And insincerity. All of it. None of it made me feel good. Mon amie, I've realized that I'm capable of being angry, and it scares the bajeezus out of me. Fucking hell! Mon amie, I'm not the victim here, please don't make it seem like that. I'm just hypersensitive. Not in the fishing for compliment sense, nor in the fishing for sympathy sense. That was a bad idea. That was a really bad idea. I'm sorry, mon amie. My doubt was just a misrepresentation of my dissatisfaction with myself. I don't doubt your words, I doubt my ears. FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! I don't know what to say! I don't know what to say! I made a really bad fuckup. A really really bad one. I doubted you, but I shouldn't have. I really really shouldn't have. And it's worse that I wrote about it. Goddamnit. Gah, why can't I put my thoughts into words? Why? Why?! Ugh, fucking hell. I'm a miserable failure at life. Mon amie, you really . . . I don't know. You're doing fine. I'm just having some inner conflict over you. That's a good way to put it. I'm fighting with myself for what to think of you. I hope the good side wins. Mon amie, I was angry. I don't like that. I'd be crying if I had tears left. Mon amie, I just want a hug. Then everything will be better. Hug me and tell me everything will be okay. And that you love me, fo' reals. Then things will be better. I promise. I'm just lonely. 060110 ... Farool I'm sorry mon amie. Can I try this again? 060110 what's it to you? who go blather from