I’m treating Jess’ and Greg’s “love” story as a writing exercise in this diary and I don’t know how to feel about that.

On one hand, I don’t care about love or romance, it only brings up apathy in me. Perhaps that part of me is broken.

On the other hand, stylising Jess’ rambling monologues is the only thing keeping me sane as I listen. Everyone else refuses to, but I refuse to shrug her aside when I know how much she relies on chatting. Talking is her way of untangling thoughts, the way mine is writing.

Naddie holds the firm belief that love will appear at the right time with the right person. Max and Jess find relationships fun, but are both hindered by our small town being void of anyone interesting. It’s almost surprising that they never dated each other, but I suppose it doesn’t work that way. Zach and Richie… I don’t even know. Richie draws pretty girls, but I can’t tell if that’s based in attraction or art.

I don’t care about romance in real life – in stories, it downright repulses me. There is something off about written romance. Even when rereading those Jess and Greg re-imaginings, I find it weird. Maybe it’s over-written as a subject, drowning in clichés, or maybe I’m broken. I stand outside a concrete fence, seeing a slab of greyness instead of the romantic park filled with pink hearts and pretty smiles.

I always hoped I’d outgrow this feeling. That someday I’d meet someone that makes me understand what love is. It’s been almost a month since I turned 18, yet there’s no change.

No change in anything, I might add.

Everything’s the same. Nothing’s different. I didn’t expect the world to turn upside down with my birthday, but at least something!

Nothing.

Well, I did buy beer for myself and I’m currently drinking it. I guess that’s something new.