Selfish

My stomach feels like an aching void (of course, if it was a void, I'd be a lot skinnier). Tonight I've been reading about fictitious people and wishing, not for the first time, that I could be part of the story. 

The acheis easy to explain. It's just loneliness coupled with fear of rejection plus missing things that use to prop up the constructs of my world.

I miss a couple guys who crushed me. I shouldn't, but I do on night's like this. Everyone I love are adults (or babies who you can't have a discussion about accountability with) who are married and/or have kids and/or jobs to wake up for, so it becomes hard to justify waking then up (or slowing them down) by posing theological queries or asking what kind of cake they'd want to be or if they've listened to Beau James' Ten Shots yet. 

It's selfish. I know it is. Plus it's whiny of me to miss it. I'm exceedingly blessed to have so many loving friends (who hopefully won't read this & think I'm ungrateful or trying to say they're anything less than awesome), but nights like this make me wish I had one person that was just mine. 

Someday. 

But for now, back to listening to my iPod flip berween old songs while reading an old book. Life's not too bad even if I'm aching sometimes.