new notebooks.

I like a lot of things, like new notebooks. They're just so beautiful to look at.
You could say I like everything, until I don't.
Liking is not loving, and that's how I live my life. Not loving it.
Because I don't know what love is yet, there's no shame in that right? I know I love my family and my friends, but it's the kind of love that comes easy. Easy loving. I didn't have to fight for it, they love me and I love them without ever questioning it. It's so easy it makes my heart ache for something different. Real love. Romance. The whole thing, everything. Whatever that may be.

I want more than what I currently have, or at least I think I do. Because again, I don't know what I'm missing or what it precisely is I'm looking for. I think I do, but I actually don't and I secretly know I don't. And it hurts, it really does.
Will I ever love and be loved? How do I do that? What am I doing wrong?
I know everything I want is out there, waiting for me to discover. How do I get there? Should I put myself out there and make an effort? Or should I just wait and live my life for now, because things don't work when they're forced to. I don't know. I don't know. I'm afraid I'll go mad. I need someone. Something.

I'm not always like this, most days I get on just fine. Nothing major to worry about. I should feel lucky that I have people in my life that love and accept me, because it's not always a given thing. It is not given. I am lucky. I should realize that.
Most days I agree and I'm able to tell myself just that. But there are days like these, the day I'm having right now, where things just seem so incredibly off. At first I just know something's not right. I feel uneasy and don't know how to fix it. Then, the longing will start. I don't know what I want and there's nothing I can think of that eases it. It just eats at me, all day long. And I get so tired, tired of waiting, tired of people, tired of thinking, tired of living. I don't want life to end, I just want my life the way it is right now to end. When I'm in this state, all I want is to be alone and to stop thinking for a while. So I'll lock myself in my room and lose myself in a digital world. It satisfies me for some time, but it always comes back to haunt me.

When I think about it, this isn't healthy. I should talk about it. I don't want to talk about it. So now I write about it. I just want to be okay. I don't feel okay right now though.

You always hear people say things like 'there's someone for everybody' or 'don't worry, things will be alright'. And things will be alright, but they are not alright right now. So I feel like I should be waiting for things to end and others to start so I can live my life the way I want and long to. When is the time? I want to be patient, want to be able to wait so I can say it was worth it in the end. How do I know it was worth it?

What's killing me, now that I think of it, is the waiting. So I should stop waiting right? Except I don't. I don't seem to know how. A change of scenery? Impossible right now, traveling is literally forbidden. A personality change? I like the way I am most of the time. I shouldn't have to change myself right?
Dating apps? I want more than just a night's worth of satisfaction. I've never done that sort of thing, I'm too scared to 'just go for it'. Maybe that's where my fault lies. I don't know. I'm trying to figure it all out. I just want to be okay.

And here I am, with my brand new notebooks with blank pages. Only, I'm too afraid to write on them, to screw them up. And so they stay here with me, all beautiful and unwritten. Until I decide that I'll write something, they'll stay the same, because that's just how it works. So I should write in them, and like it while doing it. I should, shouldn't I? But why can't I seem to do it? I confuse myself so much sometimes, even I don't understand what I'm saying.

Luckily I like new notebooks. I like looking at them, seeing the things they seems to promise me, the opportunities they can give me. I love it, but it comes so easy. It's just a simple case of easy loving. It's just not enough.