I'm always so lonely. I don't

I'm always so lonely.
I don't understand why- you're perfect. You're loving, charming, intelligent, talented, and gorgeous. I can tell that that's what everyone else sees. I've been with you for four years now, and the entire time, I've been both ecstatic and miserable. I love you to death.
But sometimes, when you're angry, I can tell what you really look like. I can see it in your eyes, how badly you want to hurt me. Your friends see it, too. I can tell they don't know what to say, or how to act, but they notice and it bothers them.
I know you love me, despite this.
You act like a child, sometimes, and it's okay. I don't mind.
I have nothing against holding you, cuddling with you, and kissing you, even though our relationship is so backwards.
I treat you too well. You don't deserve it, even a little bit.
Our relationship is such a contradiction, I don't even know what to think.
And you were always so sad. Luckily you grew out of it, but I can't help but fear that it's coming back. I know you hate yourself. I know you think you're stupid and worthless, and I know you're scared. I know that underneath it, underneath the anger and the cocky attitude, you're just a scared, insecure little boy. I don't mind taking care of you when you need it.
I just wish I didn't have to all the time.
You need help, but you don't see it. I don't think you'd get it even if you did. You're too intelligent for counseling. You'd talk the poor doctor in circles and they'd think there was nothing wrong.
We're both perfect and horribly wrong for one another. You're the musician, and I'm the artist. You at Berklee and me at Montserrat. Both of us intellectuals, both of us creative and unique.
I love it when you're not there, though. I love the feeling of being free. None of the relationships I've had have been like this one I have with you, and I can't decide if that's good or bad. I've only ever had a handful of serious relationships, aside from you, and I almost wish we could have put this off for a few years so I could figure out if this is what I want. At this point, I'm too involved and I can't possibly untangle myself from you. Your friends are my friends, your mother is my mother, your sister is my sister. Your family is my family, and your life is mine as well. My mother is yours equally, and my brother is your little brother too. There's no getting out of it.
I wouldn't even want to for the reasons normally procured in a situation like this. Sexually, I don't want anyone else. I want you, and you never fail to disappoint in that respect.
This is why I often seem to be a little too in love with art, in its many diverse forms. Art is perfect. A painting is what you make it, and you can make it as muted or as vibrant as you'd like. I love knowing that I can make something, make anything, and I love that my only limit is in material and space. Even that doesn't stop me. I paint on walls, ceilings, desks, skin.
But in life, still everything feels so mediocre.
I've been alive for sixteen years and experienced much.
Still I am dissatisfied.
And I am frustrated with my age. I'm perfectly capable of articulating my thoughts; I'm perfectly capable of being mature and acting appropriately in any given situation. I'm more mature than most adults. I think more. I know more than most people are aware of. Ignorance is my biggest frustration.
God, I wish I was dead. I want to give up. I want my heart to turn to stone and my mind to stop all thought. I want my vocal chords to cease working. I want my ear drums to explode and no longer pick up vibrations. I want my nerves to die. All I want is the ability to move my limbs and to see light, shadow, color, and contrast.


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