Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night

Great. I've done it Billy. I've allowed myself to feel. I believe I have fallen in like. Unattainably so. And thrice. What AM I to do with meself? It's probably because of all my Nicholas Sparks-Jane Austen alternations. Some have tried to label these as "crushes" but I refuse to have my first crush. Besides, the word's vile. Seriously, the terminology is just as bad as the word "pelvis" for, well, your pelvis. "Crush" makes me think of two overly well-built Russians you can barely tell the gender difference of mud-wrestling. Not attractive. Not necessarily "Russians" either. Just as long as they're from some sort of Slavic nation, ya know? Anyway, I just need to quench 'em. I've snuffed out most of the flames of love before they could even get a firm hold on just the paper and kindling of my emotions. Sometimes, I've been so good, so watchful and observant, that I was able to stop the sparks from reaching anything flammable at all. But, I mean, it's not like you can stop the hands from striking flint and stone at all. And I'm afraid, this time, I've let it go on far too long. I'm positive I can snuff out the fires, (let's face it; I'm a cold, heartless stone with only the preface of a human body) but I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get burned. Just a little, but still. For someone who's never swum in a pool, the ocean can be pretty daunting. Ooh, nice metaphor! Snaps for me.