Buried Alive

My whole life I've operated on a system of logic rather than one of emotion. I imagine that's why I always got along with boys better than girls and my exes referred to me as the most laid back girl they knew. When empiricism rules, I don't get mad that you want to go out for a drink with the guys after a long day, or that you have to write a paper before you can see me. When empiricism rules I'm exactly like J: Empirical to a fault and level headed until someone does something illogical.
J and I were eerily alike sometimes. I blame it on the fact that we have similar heritage and upbringing. We loved the same TV shows when we were kids and I don't mean like Rugrats. I mean things like Thomas the Tank Engine, Jay Jay the Jet Plane, and Theodore the Tugboat. Both of us sat through each other's parents' stories about having to wait by the train tracks to watch multiple trains go by because we were fascinated. We had the same favorite ice cream flavor, same favorite snack foods, and we were both huge fans of green tea and blueberry coffee. We like the same times of year, we both grew up with OCD moms and alcoholic dads, and we both belong on mood stabilizers but refuse because it can affect cognition. But he's empirical and stoic, and I'm empirical and empathetic.
He's empirical to a fault. School is what matters most. School was more important than I was. And I understand. I can be empirical to a fault, but sometimes, usually when I fall in love, empathy overrules empiricism. I know that my academics are important, but I give, and give, and give until I run myself into the ground and I can't give anymore. J ended things before I buried myself alive.
I want to fall in love. In an all consuming love where I can give and give of myself, and get something in return. I want someone wiling to share their whole soul with me as well. I want a love so explosive and fiery that I forget about the pain and tears and darkness. Maybe someday that will be with J--when he has time. But I'm not holding my breath.