Detachment, why I can't do it.

There are people you will meet at a very young age in their life and be completely oblivious to the fact that they are at an age where they are suppose to be pining over the opposite sex. It seems of no consequence to them whether they are given that sort of attention, and when it is given to them they greet it with nonchalance and a throw away sort of grin. It is those people that attract what those who go looking for others desperately seek. The philosophy of, “it will only happen, if it doesn’t really matter,” reigns supreme in this modern age. It is at times like these when I feel it matters most that I wonder how many times my heart can be broken before it stops adoring others all together. For two years I waited to like someone. Not love someone, just to like them. Now that it has happened once again I find myself falling into the jaded uncomfortable couch I found myself sitting in after the last time I failed to have a fruitful relationship with someone. The cynic in me is crawling out a rehashing insecurities in me that I haven’t felt since I came of age. I find myself lost in a room where the lexicon of feminine insecure jealous emotions stir all around me and dare me to tell of others of my ridiculous immaturity. I do my best to try to remind myself how unworthy said person is, how inane and cruel. But it still hurts when I see him with another girl. It is absolutely silly that I see imperfection in myself in this situation, but such is the game. Such is what I get for having my sexual needs fulfilled and expecting to be able to treat them with detachment. I am a fool.