Our heads are the most terrible place, you know.

And I’m glad that he cannot possibly exist there, not actually. If I try to fit him in my boxes, place him in my categories, I’ve removed every bit of his individuality.

Individuality is what makes us who we are. So if I remove the thing that makes him who he is, I’ve removed him entirely.

So it’s a paradox, you see.

The boy out there in the world cannot possibly exist in my head

yet I spend all my day thinking of him.

I’m thinking, rather, of the objectivity of who he is.

I like the idea of the object-boy — it’s simple, it makes sense.

The object-boy fits in all the right boxes, he slides right into my assumptions and conclusions.

He never has a care, he is perfect and is spotless and is happy and is robotic.

He is not real.

He cannot be real. And I’m so very happy, because perfect people tend to be a bore.

There's a box, a relatively old and beaten down piece of cardboard.
It's been rained on, ****** on, thrown up in.
This box is weak around the edges, it's barely holding up.
This box is one reality is threatening to crush.
It's the one people put you in,
so that in the next minute they can write you off.

I know this person they want to fit in that worn old box,
it's the same box I fit in.
They're not different.
I tore up my box,
I realized I wanted several things,
and the box, with it's weakening walls and ideals,
wanted to shame me for it.

I stomped and tore up that box,
because it said things I didn't agree with.
It complicated simple delights, like love, pain, hurt, anger and regret.
It hurt my soul and entire being.
When being in the box, is
more harmful than helpful,
crush that **** up.
Lay it flat,
and wall all over it's weak walls.
Feel it compress and bend to your will.
Free yourself of the **** and *****.
It's the only way to live,
Outside the box.

No, no you don't understand.
What most people fail to realize is that there is more than one type of love. The love I feel for my parents is different from the love I feel for my friends, which isn't anything like the love I feel for the boy who's captured me attention. Even still, I love each of my friends differently. The English language only has one word to label a hundred thousand different feelings. Love is a broad term, and I will use it broadly. Most people would probably say I'm just throwing it around, that I don't actually love the people I'm saying it too, but I do. I love them with all my heart, and there's very little in this world that could ever change that.