It's fine, darling.

Lately, I've been okay, I've been writing. I've been happy. I've been sad.
I've been poetic.
It's funny how emotions never seem to accurately describe how we feel.
There's happy and there's sad and there's everything in between.
Life is so much more than two complete opposites.
Maybe it isn't.
Life is unfair. Completely unfair.
It's not even about emotions. It's about time. And who you want to spend it with.
Have you noticed we never spend enough time with the people we want?
It's torture. They could live elsewhere. They could live next door.
No matter what, we don't.
We're young. Marriage is a far away place. An island miles away, and we have yet to buy our ship.
Which brings me to the conclusion of the journal:
Love. Oh, love.
Love is lovely. Love is perfect.
Love is torturous. Love is painful.
When you love someone that's all you want to do.
You want to love them. Every part of them.
You want to hug them. You want to kiss them.
You want to spend all of your time with them.
And you know you won't regret a single moment.
No matter what.
Love makes me sick.
I'm not talking about the family kind of fucking stupid love.
I hate my family.
I'm talking about someone totally unrelated to you.
You're complete opposites. But you want to be perfect for each other.
Or maybe only one of you does. Or maybe they're dating someone.
And finally,
Not even forbidden love.

They know it. But they love someone else.

That's how I've been.