at the end of the night I used to be sure that going to bed alone was okay because in due time, I'd find someone to spend the rest of my life in bed with.

But tonight I am looking at the space that has only been occupied by body pillows and stuffed superheroes without a guarantee. A man in my bed? Forever?

I'm not sure that I can spend all of this time waiting for something so completely unlikely.

I hate to be defeated.

How could I possibly be? Am I 21 years of age and already ruling out the possibility of marriage?

People are just so damn replacable.

I cannot, not one single bit - fathom... a life with someone. The rest of my life (whenever the rest of my life begins) with another person. Who could be so tolerable?

Sometimes I am certain that my passion is too strong to ever be matched by another human being. Then I think - sure - it's possible. But it has to be a miracle. There has to be an element of uncanny attraction and I have to fall in love immediately. If someone wants to stick with me and survive through this thing called "til death do us part," I am pretty sure he'll be permanent the second I make eye contact.

If you give me a week, I'll slip away. I just need one impressive instant. Otherwise, that millisecond of hope becomes a week of conjuring up flaws and dead ends.

All these dead ends.

My poor empty bed.

Me. Whining about it. Damn well knowing that I hate feeling smothered in bed. And that I find it remarkably difficult to find a breathing rhythm with someone else's piled on top of mine. And most imporantly, staring up at my twin sized bunk bed and realizing that I don't want to share it.

I just want to share myself.  ¶ 2:38 AM