I woke up this morning with love in mind. I'm going to bed alone. Again. once again, i sit alone and ponder this existence in which I inhabit. An existence of toil and rare mirth, of hedonism and hate. i eat and loathe my inner being, then commit the sin of self-pleasure for a mere millisecond of forgetfulness. my body aches for a touch of another and it does not have to be sexual in nature, so get your mind out of the gutter. I don't remember how it feels to hold another's hand, or the warm embrace of a lover. those days are gone for me, so much so that I rarely think about them except for nights like tonight where the wine has flowed and the heat has stirred up a long-dormant passion within my soul. it's too hot, says the man who lives alone. on the colder nights, it's not hot enough, sleeping in an empty bed. oh what do I say, I do not know. it's friday night and everyone is out and about except for me. I sit here and type for no reason, no reason at all. I bid you all a good night…