I’ve been finding myself journaling when I feel a piece doesn’t make the cut. And now I’ve been bored or so self-clustered my apathy comes in – but in a good way. The childhood psychologists of Myrtle’s youth would suggest complacently “smiling through apathy is a not a complacent result towards loving relationships” then that how will she ever find a husband bullshit. For all my beautiful love stories none of them work out. Perhaps that’s why I’m so loveless about it. Still Studying Johnny, his ghost is eating the kraut it’s fine.

I think in a perfect world I was never meant to marry. Never meant to be pawn away and experience love in the ways I can and do. Prioritizing self care and self love are also of the most importance to me, even when it seems like I’m not. But sometimes the mind draws weary with depression looking at my non-executed now or well over relationships, wondering if there’s any hope. And then I think of the hope I should be finding for myself instead of a broken man. I don’t need to go and upend a man’s life just to have him back for a few. He’ll get back to me if he needs me.