Forum.RttP{outside of my bedroom window}

M.F.BASTARD said

I'll preface this post by informing you all that I'm neither stupid nor am I crazy. Down the street, there's a giant dog who lives in a strange house on a hill. Between the dog's house and mine, there's a municipal castle of sorts and it really prevents me from getting a good look at anything outside my window. From where I'm sitting now, I can hardly even see the castle, let alone the dog's house and certainly not the dog. The dog's owner is some old woman or some old woman's son or some old man or his daughter. Ostensibly, this dog and I are quite close to each other. I don't particular enjoy or like this dog, but I can't control my awareness of it. For the last four years or so I've been fixating on this dog. Something about it compels me to think and feel strange things. They aren't strange in any sort of recognizable way. For instance, I'm not in love with this dog nor do I wish to ever even get close to it. To be honest, I've never actually seen the dog. I just kind of know he's there and have assumed that he is. With regards to anything I've said about the dog up to this point and hereafter, be sure to add an 'I think' or 'I imagine' or 'I believe' or 'I hope' after the fact. Sometimes I'll go to the window and look for the dog. Always, I expect to see him sauntering down the road, right past my front door. Days have gone by where I'll go out of my way to go where I think the dog will be. When I get there, I posture myself in ways I think the dog will find appealing and I try to live up to his expectations. Sometimes, I'll do things that I think the dog would like, in a hopeful attempt to imbue myself with some sort of appeal and intrinsic value. I imagine the dog to be pretty handsome, with a healthy coat and shiny black nose. I've taken to drawing this dog, lately, whenever I find myself trying to relax.There have been times when I've sort of lost myself in a thought only to snap out of it and notice that I've started sketching the dog without even realizing it. I'll put hours of work into these drawings, even though they all come out looking silly and simplistic. I'll probably never get to see this dog and I'll certainly never get to know it. The boundless limits of my imagination serve only as painful reminders of what could be. Being able to feel things as though they were real and see things as though they were right there in front of me is difficult. I can stare at the desk in front of me while my mind drifts off somewhere else. My mind always inevitably leads me back to the dog. I could walk up all those stairs to reach the house, knock on the door and wait for a response and then be greeted by some curmudgeonly old man or some pathetically solitary spinster. They may or may not answer my questions about the dog and they may or may not even answer the door. It's easier, though, to stay where I am and dream. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, but sometimes it's better to have nothing and save it for a time when you really want something. I could easily dare to find the dog, even if he doesn't really live down the street, but that's a very risky endeavor. Where would I be, then, if the dog refused to be found? Refused to be found by me, of all people. If I can't find the dog, with all my passion and fervor and conviction, how can anyone expect to? It seems almost as though the dog prefers to remain elusive. Maybe he's tucked himself away in some secret place and has convinced himself that only the right person can take all the necessary steps to find him. If I had to, I would wade through treacherous mires and scale perilous heights to find him. I would cast aside my ego and become less than nothing for the dog. No one else is as willing as I am to sacrifice for him, but I still don't hold out much hope for the future. Unless the dog comes looking for me, I don't think I'll ever encounter him. I wonder, though, if I would even recognize him. Any ordinary dog I pass on the street is just that; an ordinary dog I pass on the street. Something special will happen, when we're near to one another. I'll know it and she will too, wherever she is. We've been apart for three years now and I'm still trying to find you or an acceptable replacement. I loved you more than you could know and have a hard time believing you don't love me in return. You don't act like you care, but you must, because I do. And I promised you that I wouldn't, just like you did to me. If I'm wrong, you must be too. I thought I was over this, I thought I had moved on, but I haven't. Who am I kidding? You're all I think about. Whatever mistakes I have to make to get to you, I'll make. I'll choke on my pride and die, if I have to. This won't bring you back, I can appreciate that. Nothing will, because no one knows what lies on the other side. I like to think that for me, it's you. It's you I'll find on the other side of this impenetrable curtain, cordoning me off from the rest of the world. You're there and I'm here, but there's nothing between us. We must be together, then, since we are not separate. The memory of you will keep me safe and nourishes my heart daily like warm colostrum. It invigorates and vitalizes me. I live for it and have every intention of dying for it.
This is all for you or someone like you.

you're arrested.