my head is way too full of heart; my heart too full of nothing.
feeling so forlorn. i think my recent moods can be summed up in two words: poignancy and happiness. i enter a brief moment & lose myself to giddy laughter, but it’s not menopause — i get hit by a raw, fresh wave of (lingering) coldness, i don’t know why or from what, and the cycle becomes self-perpetuating. and it feels awful, this feeling, wanting to stop and lean against something and sob.
(but anyway, you stamp down your idealism by drawing cynicism into the picture. it’s not that you lack the capacity to love — it’s that you’re adamantly against the notion of allowing yourself to love because you don’t believe yourself worthy of it.)