A night with the stars, and all that I’m left with is questions.

NOTE: The following was written in a nightclub in Honolulu, on a collection of paper towels that I got from the restroom.

I met up with this Aussie named Jacob in the lounge of the hostel that I’m staying at in Waikiki. He said that it was time to hit the clubs, since this was his last big night on the island.

“Let’s freaking loose it.” For once in my life, I was in complete agreement. It was high time that I hit the clubs. I got on my pants and my dress shoes. I didn’t bother putting on a tie. I wanted to see if I still had the game in me – after all, it had been almost two years since the last time I bumped to “Outta Your Mind.”

What is sanity? Is it an equilibrium of the mind, of the spirit? Is it temporary, or can sanity actually remain intact? The more that you lie to other people about who you are, does it get easier for you to lie to yourself as well?

Why am I so fucking… bored here? Am I really supposed to be here?

Where do I belong? Here? In this club? Why do I feel so empty here? So… soulless? So cold? So alone?

Do nice guys really finish last? Is that really a bad thing?

The question that I should be asking myself is not any of these. The question that I should be asking is: am I supposed to be with her?

I met a Frenchman – a very young, vibrant, and interesting politician – tonight, who told me to forget about her. This is the same advice that I’ve received, so far, from individuals from five continents.

“Why do you need her at all?” He asks me. “It sounds to me like she is a girl. Girls are bad. You showed her another world, and she started to experience things. She’s umm… what you call… a putain… umm, I think the english word is slut. You’re just in denial.”

Let’s get this straight. I do not, and never will, think that this girl is a slut.

Am I in denial though? Is she really just like one of these fakes at the club? After she lied to me like that, how am I supposed to believe ANYTHING that comes out of her mouth? I thought she was such a good person. I didn’t think she could EVER in a million years do something as stupid as that.

But she did. She cheated on me, she dumped me, and then she lied to me about why we were separating. I have to live with that, no matter how much I want it to not be this way, it is this way. There’s nothing I can do about it. Why don’t girls ever tell the fucking truth anymore? Why doesn’t anyone? What’s so hard about telling the truth to people that you have to live in a state of perpetual lies just to get by?

I know that I will never, EVER be the same again. I have truly been hurt. Heartbreak hurts worse than a bullet or a broken bone – I would know.

If just one nightclub makes me feel this shitty, I may never come back to one. The funny thing is that this is one of the best nightclubs in one of the best cities in the world. I’m here, dancing next to the extras from Hawaii 5-0, maybe a cast member or two, famous pro surfers, golfers, politicians from around the world. I should be happy, but I still feel like shit.

I just don’t fit in in this world anymore. I’m not the same person that I used to be. And it’s kind of unsettling watching my childhood idols popping E  tablets and spiking each other’s drinks. I’m in the song Royals by Lorde, looking out at the craziness of this world with new eyes. I feel just like I did the night of winter ball senior year of high school:

Lost. In Honolulu. Alone.

Wanting true love, but so afraid of the consequences. So fucking afraid.

I don’t think, as a single man, that I am ever going clubbing again. It just makes me feel too much like shit. Or maybe that’s just the vodka and the beer.

Might as well try to enjoy myself some more, and try not to leave James in the wind.

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