better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

::In Memoriam:27::Alfred Lord Tennyson::

Fuck yourself Tennyson.

Seriously.

I HAVE LOST A GREAT DEAL RECENTLY AND IT IS NOT BETTER TO HAVE WHATEVER THE FUCK, THEN NEVER HAVE WHATEVER THE FUCK AT ALL. Dick.

All I’m saying is that its gorgeous outside but, there ain’t no sunshine cause he’s gone.

My motherfuckin favorite is back in…you know…BUT he has not come by at all. I am devastated.

I could look him up in the office data system, but that is breaking all sorts of privacy laws. I could find his address and hang out in his neighborhood but, that can be seen as stalking and stalking is a crime; a crime difficult to prove but, a dangerous venture to say the least. I could find his phone number but, with modern technological advances like caller ID, that may be the stupidest strategy yet.

I wish I could will him to come into the office. Even call in. Hehe, that sounded like his name…no it didn’t. Pay no attention to that…or heed this warning: snitches get stitches. So stop snitchin.

Mother fucker.

Love is dangerous and so am I! JK JK. I’m harmless. See warning above.

I long for him. My days are empty without the opportunity to serve him. How do I live without you, I want to know. I rise every morning with the hopes that I might be useful once more, that I may see him, that I might touch his hand, or perhaps touch his life. The chance that perhaps, maybe, somehow someway, the stars could align and he could serendipitously cross my path – this is the only reason I continue this drudge. Why I haven’t shuffled off this mortal coil. Why I give pause.

But, you’re killin’ me man. Fucking killin’ me.

I write today, in hopes that this may summon him. This may be the ripple in energy that will float him to my shores. So far. Nothing. I’ll give it a day.

I also write because a good friend of mine and her friend of hers started a blog and I started following it. They write about crap.

I write of love, the one thing that keeps this world together, the hope, the glue, the only meaning for we, the lonely and wretched beasts treading surface of earth; the only sentient creatures on this desolate planet with the ability to wax poetic.

I write of substance. Where the fuck is my muse. He better not have gotten married already. But his wicked she-bitch (shut up I know that’s both redundant and stupid. It sounds cool) would be one explanation as to why he is not visited.

My stars…he is held captive. Denied his freedom. Unable to…pursue our love. For shame she-bitch. Hater.