Side Effects May Occur

Having been raised with the notion that men not only shouldnt show their feelings but thy better not have any, i have a weird relationship with emotions. Thats also one of the main factors behind my brain getting so haywired in the past: dealing with strong feelings, while always trying not to show them ever. This might seems strange for a guy that writes down his inner monologues on the internet, but that to me is as open as i can get and i also feel guilty for it.

I heard mjany many people, hgirls included, that keep saying that men should be comfortable with their emotions and let them exist. Still, ladies, i would be happy to be proven wrong and i'm sure that once you are intimate with someone, you'd love to know what goes on in their heads and hearts. But, at a deper level, you would never, ever, ever like or be attracted to a man that is overly sensitive or prone to crying. Of course, he will charm you into liking him, but its a trick. Men arent supposed to be too open about feelings and when they do, they keep it to themselves. It's how things are. And how they're supposed to be. I am already forcing myself to speak so openly here. Still, i have something going on in me that can be called feelings.

Its the side effects of having a heart and a brain. And not sleeping. My brain goes on a journey od its own and it fills up with shocks and thunderbolts, helped by its chemical instability, mad even more peculiar by the natural power of spring.

I watch the moon and think of every single girl i met. How beautiful they are but how somehow they dont quite fit the magic of the few that stole my hneart. How special those ones, or that one, are and the effects it has on my day. How my heart flutters how i seem to feel everything amplified at once and how even in its bitter sweteness, i love the feeling. How i cant really define what it is and what its happening but how i enjoy being in it and savouring it. And how precious the whole thing is to me, how talking to her makes me feel better. And then i remember the past times i had a similar thing and failed at making it grow. And it kinda becomes a regretful thing.

I remember talking or spending time with people i thought i loved and how it soured afterwards. How sometimes i miss that, eve a couple of sentences said at the right moment and how gorgeous those simple chats were. But i also remember how things went bad and i wish they didnt. But they did and most of the times, broken stuff cant be fixed.

Think of the great fucks in my life and the not-so-great ones. The old and the new. Have fantasies about the fuiture, embellish the memoriesx or remember details about them that i let slip. How the basic scent of skin, asweat and even tears could make me wilder than a rabid dog. And how the same things can leave me cold at times, while hearing a voice can make my blood race in a way thats unique and special. The simple vibration it gives, from my ears to my loins. Through the heart, the simple always broken heart.

Think of how i love the taste of a nice beer. Or two or twenty and how i got easily over the memories of me broken in a drunken car crash or me embarassinbg myself as a binge drinker, night after night. How that will not ever make me be clean. But yet how seeing my mother dying slowly second after second in front of me is making me hate alcohol. How talking to her on a morning and seeing her already shiutfaced, drooling on herself and not being able to stand because living is such a burden that she cant bvear it sober, is the most single hurtful image i'll ever witness.

How those things make me love friends for how they heal my pain but how in the end i need to fix me and what surrounds me by myself and alone. Because i need solitude to pace my life but i'm grateful for each and every single one of them. And i'm grateful for the one i love the most, whos' like aan angel that lightens up the dark. Love you Rhi. What you gonna do? I'm a bit of a pussy today. Its spring.