What's the point?

I have never responded so much to an assigned reading as I have just now.

I was assigned to read two short stories for today's English class, Reflections of Spring by Duong Thu Huong and Helix by Banana Yoshimoto. Both took place somewhere in Pacific Asian area. Both involved a man and a woman, both of which fancied or were in love with the other.

And both reminded me about the people in my life I'm trying so hard to forget. I don't want to remember because of the personal pain, self-inflicted or otherwise. I just don't want to remember. But I can't. For some bizarre reason, my emotions run deeper than any hurt I have felt before.

Somewhere inside me, I still love them. I want to see them again. I want to actually see them. I want to say so many things to them. I want them to hear what I have to say to them.

David. I'm so sorry. I know that you put so much into just making things work between the two of us, between myself and the rest of the boys. I let you down. I don't know what I can do, if anything, to make it better. I don't know if I even can! It's too late. The damage has been done, and the clay slate has turned into stone. There is no going back or taking back. No apology could save me short of a blessing.

What's the point? I know someone reads this, but whether or not it is the person that I would like to read this is out of the question. Out of the picture entirely. For all I know, they probably hate me. They all are happy living their life with each other and their life-long love.

And here am I, once again, in front of a computer complaining and bitching and making a complete and utter jack ass of myself. Once again, I whine into a small text box that has about as little feeling towards me as my retired dildo. Once again, I'm talking to no one. Once again, I sit with my eyes half closed typing things I will never say, writing words that will never leave my lips and no ear will ever hear. Once again, I talk to no one by myself.

...

I would wish for something to come along and change all this, but that will never happen. Even if it does, God knows I'll just fuck that chance up again, much like the last ones.

God, do me a favor and don't do me any more favors after this. I don't deserve any. Peter, don't bother unlocking the gate for me, even if I deserve to come in. I don't deserve eternal happiness. Mary, don't weep for me. Your tears are better left for those that need love. Jesus, you died for all of our sins, but right now I wish you never died carrying my sins. I would never wish that upon anyone, not even the Son of God.

What's the point of that? The last time anyone listened to me from upstairs, I was probably too young to remember it. And if they have recently, I was, and still am, too blind to see it, too deaf to hear it, and too stupid to understand it.

What's the point of it all? This complaining on a public media, typing prayers to God and the saints, publishing a private apology. What is the point of all this? Why do I do this?!

Why should I even continue?