02 December, 2002

The Concept Of True Love

Laguna y Julia... Rinoa y Seifer...

I find myself questioning love itself.
Rinoa found out Seifer was alive, and when Squall said he might have to kill him, what was her response?
Julia loved Laguna, yet fell for Caraway at the drop of a hat.


I miss Trent. Not the Trent I knew... The Trent of legend. The Trent from third grade. But... that Trent is gone. No, it is worse: Trent never was.

C'est amor.

To tell the truth, it scares me. Well, everything scares me, but this in particular really scares me.

But it gets worse. You see, I find myself doubting even in but the possibility of love. I pray for P, yet look at what happens to me.


I am trapped. It is like AngelGorge said: "To be truly free, one must not understand the concept of being free." I can never love, for I feel like I do love. Indeed, love cannot exist while the possibility of the comprehension of love is imaginable.

The only true love is that of a baby.

Or a rock.

The following is quoted from my Celtic Diary, dated September 10, 2002:

Why am I like this? Why do I scare so easily? Why does my stability feel so unstable? Like I'm constantly experiencing a mild earthquake.
Sisyphous... Only I refuse to let it fall all the way. I will keep myself sane, else my life is forfeit.


I'm sorry for the cryptic entry today... I don't expect anyone to actually understand this but me. But thanks for reading anyway.
Note to self: this is what happens when you write entries and you're too tired to think clearly enough to express yourself understandably. Next time, don't let this happen, or else this diary will turn into nothing more than unintelligible mumbo-jumbo.

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