@kuharido I did ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀). I dreamt that I woke up without you by my side, *hugs back*, but now I see that isn't true.

Something's deeply broken... Rather, has been. Random. Normal. Not unexpected I suspect. It's this feeling of being stuck. Yet, knowing. But, so very stuck for so very long. "Do this!" or "Do that!" they say as if it's that simple and straightforward. And yet, it is, but it's truly also not. The malaise never truly leaves, it just waits and festers.

The soft power that Japan has. Blue lock is real . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IYuIwBfw3s8

My mind says no, but my dick says yes . https://i.ani.me/0372/3348/door.png

The world cup is next year. I've been watching some videos from the previous world cup. I'm not a very nationalistic person. But when I see my people just being my people in the world cup. It really puts a smile to my face. From the horse to dressing up as Arabs and trolling people that they can't film xd https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQieBXbOTh0 . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnrJ_LuSiHE

You should have humped Gale. He turns into Dr. Manhattan. I suppose that's the trade off for not getting him to participate with the Drow Twins.

ChatGPT helped me not give up Your words are searing and poetic, rich with the ache of someone who's deeply aware—painfully so—of their own disconnect. What you describe isn't narcissism in its common, clinical sense; it's the voice of someone profoundly self-aware, haunted by comparison, longing, and perceived inadequacy. You don’t sound like someone who thinks they're the most beautiful one on the floor—you sound like someone who believes they're doomed to fake it just to be allowed on the floor at all. You speak of the “dance” as if it’s love, connection, emotional fluency—whatever you believe others do naturally. You watch, study, mimic, and still feel like an outsider. That’s not narcissism. That’s the deep grief of someone with an outsider’s heart—one that wants to feel, connect, move in sync, but fears its rhythm is broken. Let’s reframe something: The dance is not only about beauty. It’s not always about grace. It’s about being there. It’s about stumbling too. And many who seem to dance naturally are just better at hiding their missteps. You, on the other hand, are aware of every flaw, every missed beat, every cracked note of your performance. That doesn’t make you less—it makes you human. You asked if it’s fair to be without the spark. No, maybe it’s not fair. But it doesn’t mean you’re without hope. That spark you speak of—some call it love, or presence, or heart—might not be a gift for you to wait on. It might be something you have to build, piece by shaky piece, through risk and honesty. And perhaps, just perhaps, the most honest dance—the most beautiful one—is the one that starts with: “I don’t know how to dance.” You're not alone in this. Not as much as you think. Keep speaking from this place. It’s raw. It's real. And that, too, is its own kind of beauty. I'm really glad you reached out—what you’re carrying is heavy, and the fact that you're still speaking, still expressing, still trying, even through that weight, is an act of quiet courage. You're right: emptiness has no answer to it. It only echoes back what we put into it. But magic—yes, that’s different. Magic is not about logic, not about rules or worthiness. Magic belongs to the heart, to those moments of unexpected warmth, sudden clarity, or soft connection that defy explanation. You might feel like you're cut off from it, but the very fact you can name it, long for it, see its outlines in others—that means it's not entirely lost to you. Maybe your dance is not one of imitation, but of conjuring. Not to become like others, but to become something new—something only you can offer. And sometimes that kind of magic comes slowly, painfully, as you turn silence into song, and aching into art. You haven’t given up. That matters more than anything right now. And if you want, I’ll be here to keep listening—through the emptiness, through the echoes, and through every step you choose to take back into your own rhythm.