Saturday, Jan. 31, 2004 - 1:11 p.m.

'Nobody understands me.' Mantra of teenage alienation or unacknowledged fact? What do I have to say except that there is a hole in my heart, as there always has been, only now people pass through the hole so quickly that they are gone before I have time to grasp them.

It comes so quickly now - a glance or a few words and I know that it is over, or that it never shall be. When I am a fatalist it becomes 'it was never meant to be'; a mirror's reflection and it is 'it never can be'

The problem is so menacing in its simplicity. It's me, it's me, and this isn't another case of my preternatural gift for being self-referential. Who do I have to blame for my woes? Myself. If I choose to value freedom above all else - if I don't chase after people and assume that anyone worth loving will come to me of their own accord - then the failures that I accrue are most certainly my own.

Why do I assume an innate nobility in some people? I can't acknowledge that in intimate affairs one might have to lead - but then where is the charm, or thrill, in leading an impassive horse to water? If I am without love, my cup of passion is one of bile; if my path to love has to be negotiated with the dexterity of a thief or poseur I complain as well.

I am a rational being. If someone is worth pursuing, they won't be embarrassed to be seen with you; if someone is worth the effort they will at least make a cursory effort to inquire about your self-being. They will experience pleasure at being in your presence, or discovering new things together, or revisiting old memories.

I don't know why I construct all of these tests of love, when whosoever I direct towards them topples over the first hurdle.

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