January 18, 2002 | 3:41 PM

None of it is ever going to happen.

All of the dreams will disappear.

Poof. In a cloud of cigarrette smoke and regret and me slapping myself in the face for having faith in something that is never going to, ever going to happen.

Because you won't make it happen for you.

Because you don't know how.

Because you have never had to make anything happen ever.

And that's ok with you.

But it's not ok with me.

What stupid bastard ever said that love was enough?