You are all talk.

We had a talk about what it means to be a friend my roommate and I did. After contemplating and remembering I realized that most friendships I have had and will have are one-sided. She then asked me if I ever had a problem if I would talk to her about it. I lied and said yes. The thing is, my problems, my issues are tiny bits of energy and madness which usually externalize themselves in some sort of wayward and likely unrelated action. My problems aren't things solved by words exchanged between people. They are solved by a reduction to the lowest common denominator. They are pushed, pulled, squashed, smashed, torn into nothingness which escape through simple little sighs, tiny lies, momentary rage, unexplained crying, and shifts in mood.

She asked me if I was happy, if there was anything at all wrong in my life right now. And I had to say no because everything in my convoluted world hangs in a perfectly fragile balance rightthissecond. I wouldn't change anything except maybe the weather. A little warmer, a little sunnier would be nice.

I think I am becoming okay with myself.
And I actually believe myself when I say it.