A constant pining for companionship. Intense loneliness is the hellspawn. Perhaps the only bright side, if ever there was one, to this solitude is that I see the good in girls, thus leading to my inevitably falling for them.

Falling. It is something I have always hated. There has never been anyone to catch me. More like indefinite floating, a bottomless pit leading to who knows what or where.

Interestingly enough, the only other thing I yearn for as intensely as I do a special girl is inspiration. Of course, the two are often intertwining, vines strangling the trunk and branches of an aged tree.

The beauty of it all is that one of those two things is most likely going to be the cold, steel muzzle pressed against my forehead.

Or perhaps the knife through the heart. I never did like guns, and there is something poetic about being stabbed in the heart, the same means of death as Elliott Smith. Of course, the wonder of it all would be how they would find my heart.