I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

When it comes to my desire for companionship, my real does not even come close to my ideal, nor even my wistful thinking. I’ll probably continue to play my stupid little game and end up losing that which I desire through my inability to act upon something I wish to be so. I fear I may end up dying this way. This way being alone.

Ah, one of the greatest fears known to all of mankind – dying alone. I know now that this will never happen to me. I have so many family and friends that I’m connected with, I know my death will not pass in an unremarkable fashion. Still, a long term companion (aka, a girlfriend) does sound nice.