The truth felt like overheated concrete on my naked sole.

Matthew was right, we're in love with the concept of falling in love, not the person who acted as stimulus for such drama. Hi again, it's your favourite frigit, romance critic. I haven't vomited such opinion in a while so here's to the fresh revisit to why we might never find the one. I was talking to Joshua yesterday about entertaining such notions of who and how, and two sentences in, he begins kicking sand onto my small hopeful bonfire. It's funny how our best friends have capabilities to irritate us with truth. I suppose wishful thinking is for the unprepared, for those who prefer to worry about foreseen and obviously upcoming complications only upon confrontation and not a moment sooner. If you see a glitch in a car you want but know it won't have any apparent problems within the first year and only after, would that not effect your decision to buy it? Why then would I give any less consideration and judge with any less scrutiny if the decision was as potentially permanent as the person I'm to marry and be with for the remainder of my life?

Seriously nic, your young, ambitious and very...immature. I think I scare myself with talk of marriage. I'm twenty, fresh out of teenage years, with thin knowledge of how to party and little root in common knowledge and social government. Which is probably a good thing in an awkward way.

I'm still curious though, about love, true love between man and woman. I'm just too unimpressed with generation Y's embedded narcissism (and mine, being part of said generation) to wonder when I will start to truly care about somebody without the need for return. Not because of the attention or the physical attraction or any self-revolving reasons satisfying ME, but for reasons of the ideal picture-perfect marriage print. Oh, and when did purity come into it and does it still exist? Imagine being in love and pure, it's unheard of in the twentieth century western world's sex-selling, body-abusing and media obsessed temperament. I think sexual purity scares me because desensitisation has come into play since childhood was introduced to the beloved magic box within which sex is reinstated again and again and begins to promote itself on the walls of the street and the talk of the town.

I suppose it's a relief we don't spend forever on this purposeless and cracked moral earth. I want more, I want so much more than I currently hold. I don't want everything quantifiable either. I want things that cannot be seen. I want to care, I want to be generous (alas, funds I have little), I want wisdom to enrich my words, I want the things I do to ripple into challenging those around me, I really want to get over myself, I want not the superficial worries of skin deep perfection to poison my priorities. I want my life to have meant something, as totally cliche and daggy as that is, if I look good now, it won't change the fact that I will age, I will grow old and those pimples I previously fretted over simply marked a memory over which to reminisce. I'd go so far to say, however, that every person on this planet, from all manner of peoples and places wants the same, wants better for somebody else, usually their children. But whoever cares little about anybody else should re-evaluate their standing in humanity.

I don't know what to do when a ten year old girl tells me she thinks she's fat.
I don't know what to do when I see her critiques as consistent to what mine were only earlier.
I can't stand how insecurities ruin everything.

Have I told you, you'll look wonderful tonight.