Love kills, you know. Forget all that “People don’t kill, guns kill,” crap right now, because it’s love that kills. When you have invested your heart in someone, one of two things can happen: it’ll pay-off, or you’ll go bankrupt. Well, since I’m not bouncing off the walls singing, “I’ve Got To Be Me,” I guess it’s kind of obvious which category my life fits into. It’s no use kicking it back and forth in your head. Love doesn’t have anything to do with thinking, or at least it shouldn’t. I’m not saying it’s all lust either, but you’ve got to admit that if you start thinking while “making love,” it totally throws the mood.
Maybe, I’m a sadist. I can’t think of any other reason why I would keep coming back for more. It’s even getting to the point where it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I’m numb. I hate being numb. Living in a block of ice, isn’t really living, or is it? Maybe, I’m going about it all wrong. I just don’t know anymore.
I wish someone could just tell me what to do. I wish that the next fortune cookie I get says something like, “Step one: whisper sweet somethings in her ear. Step two: tell her you love her. Step three: say it again and really mean it this time.” You know? Me, I’m not that lucky. All I ever find out is that an exotic stranger will come into my life soon, but nobody’s telling me how to deal with her. Everyone gets you all worked up looking for Miss Right, but all the moves I know only work on Miss Wrong. It makes me feel like giving up sometimes. Know what I mean?