every time i see your picture, it makes me want to vomit.

But only because I'm still in love with you.

So what I'm starting to worry about is if that innocence and purity I keep seeing as a romantic and chivalrous perk to bring to the relationship table, what if that's just stupid? What if my rabid adherence to idealism cripples me and forces all of my relationships into the same redundant, juvenile end? Because my methods for handling heartbreak haven't matured, as evidenced by the uber vag-flappy titling of this post.

Now, given: the depth of loss is legitimately and palpably deeper than in previous encounters with the dreary beast. But it raises questions about what my goddamn problem is.

See, now, what's supposed to happen here is an epiphany. I'm supposed to have some big, insightful, steaming pile about either how I need to change to play the game and pretend to be a grownup, or a lengthy vindication of my peter pan complex. I don't have either. And if I'm ever going to have the kind of successful, bedtime-story-telling relationship my effervescent inner child has always imagined, I need to figure this shit out.