A bug stuck by a pin.

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Learning things about yourself, you’d think would bring about change. Catharsis. For me, all I find is the hole getting deeper and deeper. I find spaces needed filling. I fear nothing more now than the passage of time. Every time I am spent alone. Every time I am spent disconnected. Feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass. I am 31 years old. My ability to connect is damaged irreparably. Like a chewed up cable in my head, shooting sparks and orange flames, and blue bolts flashing out. And every one can tell. Either I am the most good looking guy in my city or the people can see it. Sense it. I can not bare the weight any more that comes with the fall of night, looking at my empty apartment. My bedroom. Met a man who was 30 on Saturday outside of the Omni Hotel in town. A member of a wedding party inside. We smoked. My smoking I put on as a device that got me into many a conversation. People on the streets of Old Town like to smoke. And they like hanging outside on a weekend in the wee hours doing it. Here’s this man. This MAN. A man in a suit and tie and with a group of bro college friends and gaggle of female accompaniment, a girlfriend or wife, sister or whatever. Wedding date. When I got home I lay flat on my stomach in bed bone weary from the night. I was not that MAN. I am not a MAN. I am a 31 year old boy. Passing as a man. Passing as a person. I cannot find myself no matter how hard I try to be any of the two. I accept my empty spaces. I accept my wiring that has me fucked for life. No longer will I flirt. Not that I do anyway. No longer will I look or expect or hope. Their will be no one in my life that I will love or be in love with. I’m a bug. Stuck by pin. Maybe my freedom can come from this whole acceptance of this reality. I’ve never count myself a member of the human race. Inside I’m looking out and looking in. Watching myself always and it can’t stop.

A bug stuck by a pin.

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