At one point, it gets tiring just thinking about different ways of writing about it, but in the end, I still end up doing so.

I'll probably write about the first stages. It'll be behind my head, probably trying to force it out, or it's already out by some convenient coincidence. Perhaps I'll write about how my day went, attempt to force some significance into it, and at the very end, there will be a reference to what is still known by then as something insignificant.

I'll probably write about a growing fascination, and for a moment let my guard down. No clues whatsoever - just me writing about whatever it is that fascinates me. It'd usually be a confusing thing, with the reference at the very end, as I always do, but somewhere after I publish the entry, I'd feel proud that I've finally spoken up about it.

I'll probably write about something else, but little by little it'll creep up on me. Reference after reference, and confusion after confusion, it starts to consume me. Sure, consume is a big word, but attempts to sound witty is becoming a realization of some sorts. Here we go, here we go... again.

I'll probably write about the usual stuff. No need to elaborate on that one, for sure.

I'll probably write about why it hurts. I'll start punching myself in the gut, perhaps punishing myself for letting it slip away. Questions start coming in, about what went wrong, or why it always goes wrong, and as people start thinking I'm pathetic, nothing else happens. The laughingstock of the second floor turns into a hate figure, and everybody just talks to me because they have to. It's fun because I write at lengths, but it's otherwise because they don't really give a damn.

I'll probably write about random observations again. Quirky, sure. Weird, perhaps. But at least I'm starting to make sense again. I meet new friends, connect with old ones, and sever ties with others, until someone else passes by, and it all begins again.

I would've probably learned a lot from my experiences, perhaps more so because I've written about it and there's a very big chance of me remembering all of it. Maybe you'll call it ramblings, and why it always goes around, but at one point something will occur to me - that even if it gets tiring writing about girls and why they make our world go round, even if it sounds sexist or anything similar, it's still a topic that we pursue.

Then again, I only have excuses for my stupidity, rather than answers to my questions. I've been at this for three years, and despite attempts to tweak ever-so-slightly, it still ends up being just that - a convoluted mess of words and emotions. All the trauma, and we still pursue, entranced by either demeanor or charm. So, again, why do we think that, for one second, she's the one for us - and the next, that we're not the one for them?

And your responses...

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