Late

I spent this morning wondering if I'm dead inside.

I suppose my verbal slottering of potential rape victims was my first clue. It doesn't register that what I write may be offensive. I just write what seems to be my blatantly obvious truth, but I expect everyone to tell me their truth. I'm naive.
The second was how at ease I feel with coming to terms with my father's slow, and painfully stupid death sentence that he brings upon himself with every swig of beer and bowl of ice cream. His death bothers me, but finding him dead bother's me more.
The third is how puzzled I feel after reading LIAC posts - I don't understand any of them.

I've had my heart broken before. I invested so much of myself into the relationship and it bothers me that I can't remember what it feels like to be broken.

So now I wonder if I am perhaps forgetful? Or maybe I am just stuck? Or maybe my life is so painfully normal that I've removed the notions of love and replaced them with bland, every day bullshit. It seems these days, that my teenage obsession with being in love has been replaced with being responsible... And I have no idea what that means.

Either way, I feel very empty.

So I spent this morning, listening to the song, "Late" by Ben Folds and wondering if I'm dead inside.

I'm not, I've decided.

The song makes me cry.

And I find this especially strange, as it has nothing to do with being in love. In my mind, the song is about never having the chance to tell a person something that they have done, which has effected you in a way that could represent a type of love.

And I suppose, that being able to express concern, or affection towards another is what being in love means to me - Even if it is a bitter and twisted opinion.