Fun night dancing in the Hotel Capri, but ended on a depressing note.

I just want a woman to love, a woman I can read to, and shower gifts unto, and dance with, and kiss, and enjoy poetry alongside with, and tell jokes to, and spend intimate moments together with, and trust. I'm not a bad person. I've paid for friends who were one step away from homelessness. I've fucking bent my back in three directions to help friends and lovers who were depressed and they've accused me of the most vile, phony shit in the world. I've rescued people from overdose only to have them berate me. I put my life out for people, and then when they betray me they call me weak for crying, and caring, and wanting their company.

I'm not going to lie and say that I'm innocent of all charges. I've acted selfishly, but if I'm ever called out on it or if I see that someone suffers from it I try my best to rescind. I love people. I love their little quirks, their loves, their fears. I'm not some messiah - the tides of fallibility rob me of any Christ status - but damn you if you think I don't care.

Dancing and music and teaching and books are all that matter... it seems. My friend (let's call him C to maintain anonymity) ran away from all his "friends" and "lovers" to just find a life in dance, in the clubs. I may do the same. It's not the fault of all my friends or even most of them, but yeah if you share these sentiments please be sure to let me know.