I love you so much
And the more I know you
The longer I know you
The more I love you
The more I learn about you
The more I love you

I've been wanting to write an actual blog post and not just Twitter-like sentence fragments, but I just haven't been able to gather my thoughts. As much as I think sleep is absolutely necessary, it sure would be great to have an extra eight hours a day.

What is it in me that drives me to wander the empty ether on a Friday night, bereft of companionship? Why is it that I torture my mind with “could’ve beens”? Or worse yet, things that couldn’t’ve possibly ever happened, they were just thin, dry yearnings escaping from the cracks in my soul, as impossible then as they are now.