Bound to Happen

Well, once more I feel like I am the worst human being on the face of the earth. Death or self-harm seems like the only thing that could possibly give me penance. But all I did was be human... feelings are just like life... unpredictable and transient. And yet spurned by the state of being mortal, I feel the rage of another. Love, like a creature in constant metamorphosis, never stays the same. It grows, it changes, it waxes and wains like an emotional tide, but do we have control over the waves that shake the heart? Being bathed in churning water certainly feels like I'm a passive player, but I'm held accountable for the movement of the tides as though I were Diana herself.
Wanting so badly to hold friendship dear, rather than let it slip away, I spoke, and because I didn't 'speak sooner', I fend myself from this wrath and indignation. Would it really have mattered? Wouldn't there be some other reason for loathing vexation? I'm damned. Perhaps if I were better, smarter, prettier, I would have known what to do...