And there the lion's ruddy eyes shall flow with tears of gold


I wish I could write something important, something that had value to you. I wish I could tell you what you need to hear. I wish I could tell you how much I want to meet you, if I haven't, or hold you, if I have. It is exhausting, everyone pretending they have everything lined up in rows of tens, folded crisply, filed, smoothed, counted, paid, dishes washed, and envelopes licked. I hope that someday, one of us, either of us, both of us, will have that nervous break down, for once in front of another human being (or for once in genuine surrender). This artificial strength is so self-defeating, it's a needle jerked rudely into our elbow veins pumping numbness, illusion, and a five minute self-pardon that has never really meant more than the after-dinner mint that loses its flavor right after it hits your tongue.

Realisim is the most seductive, recessive gene... And chances are, you are probably stuck with family hair loss and color-blindness rather than the capacity to be who you are. Really, what is the worst that could happen, if I saw you, and you saw me? I truly doubt the exchange of expletives and cement projectiles, but that's what my brain plays out everytime I consider the option. I'm under the strange impression that if my faults shine through you will see me as weak, and therefore, unlovable. Thank God for hopeless romanticism, because I simply can't believe that of you.

One more vision of the ideal world, which ironically, isn't perfect. Because (*gasp*, here it comes...) I am not perfect, I am impatient, self-absorbed, too philisophical, a little vain, insecure, alright--very vain, and, oddly enough, desperately afraid of sea creatures. But there is such good in me, such good that I pity the mess I make myself, with all this fear. And there is such good in you, I know it, I see it, and I wanted to tell you. There it is, what I have been trying to say. I hope it means enough to remember.