Since the beginning of September I am struggling to recall significant moments in my life. I've lain drunk, dead and with a stubborn writer's block. I wish I still looked at life so introspectively. So articulately and deeply. It's been snowing and I haven't lived life through my camera. Someone has made me feel a little worthwhile. Compliments are somehow so believable when they are spoken through his mouth. Am I falling into the trap I always deemed myself never to do? I am grabbing happiness by the balls. Every now and then the lack of deep-rooted despair made me anxious that I might never feel that free again. I don't feel free. Though I do feel happy. Then one day the despair hit me like a ton of bricks and it was after that day precisely that I vowed never to take momentary happiness for granted again. I bring despair upon myself and then I revel and a little piece of me dies everytime I seem to survive. I used to be able to handle numerous nights alone and now I can barely stand one. Now that someone is willing to hold me it seems only natural to be with them every single moment of my life. What am I doing to myself? Where has my apathetic, misanthopic view of the world disappeared to? At least in that frame of mind nothing could hurt me anymore than I was hurting myself. This is a dangerous business. Caring is a dangerous business. Being cared for is dangerous. It means there are now certain limitations on the severity of which I might like to hurt myself, for I am not only living for myself. I try my best to be loved. I'm scared to love anymore than I currently do.

... What it'd do to me, I can only imagine...