It’s quite early in the morning…

…I haven’t attempted to sleep yet. The birds are outside my window, finding love.

I’ve finally stopped being bombarded by swallows. I swear the heavens were trying to send me hundreds of signs in the form of bird, and it was scary.

And I have found that I am a limerent lover and suspect that I will always be. My heels will fly over my head as quickly as ever, and my heart will beat right out of my rib cage. I’ll tear men apart as I always do, as if I’m searching for something deeper…but what is under the skin doesn’t appeal to me.

I must be infatuated with an idea. The idea of love. The idea of happiness.

I think I will always be looking for something, but I don’t think I will ever know what that is, and so I don’t think I will ever find it. Maybe I am looking for love or happiness, but I don’t think I can find something that I can’t even define.

Perhaps it will always be present, surrounding me. And perhaps I will never see it or feel it because I will only ever be human, and so I am plagued with human desires and lack of understanding for true necessity.

Forever.