Desperate romance is the curse of castaways.

I won’t be going to class tomorrow. Instead, I will be spending the day with old friends I rarely see these days.

I love them to death.

Each one makes me feel as if I could weather any storm. Right any wrong. You know, all that optimistic stuff.


Earlier I was pondering the nature of trust, and how oftentimes it has no real basis on factual evidence. I trust David, though there is no reasonable explanation as to why. I can only say that I sense he is a good guy; I feel like I know him fairly well by now. However, there is no guarantee, but for some reason this lack of concrete evidence does not bother me.

I confide in him, or rather, I actually share a majority of my random thoughts and feelings with him. And while I may cringe that I am saying my sometimes embarassing thoughts aloud, I feel at ease with him. He doesn’t judge, nor does he pander to my shifting moods.

He may not know every minute detail of my life, but I can honestly say he knows the workings of my mind better than many of the people I have known for years.

That little divulgence^ is perhaps the most harrowing aspect of our relationship thus far. It distresses me because of what it might mean. The implications are more than a little bit frightening to me, but I do not let my feelings of panic sully our time together. That would be a grand waste.

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