A Sound Waiting To Be A Word.

So What Do You Have To Confess Now?" I Don't Know Why I'm Saying Any Of This, Except That Is The Truth. "i'm Confessing That I Don't Know If I'm Ready For This." "what Is 'this'?" "being Open. Being Hurt. Liking. Not Being Liked. Seeing The Flicker On. Seeing The Flicker Off. Leaping. Falling. Crashing.

I Have No Idea How He Knows When I Need Him. We Can Go Weeks Without Speaking, And Then, When My Blue Moods Threaten To Turn Black, He Will Show Up And Tell Me My Moods Are Azure Indigo Cerulean Cobalt Periwinkle And Suddenly The Blue Will Not Seem So Dark, More Like The Color Of A Noon-bright Sky. He Brings The Sun.

When First Love Ends, Most People Eventually Know There Will Be More To Come. They Are Not Through With Love. Love Is Not Through With Them. It Will Never Be The Same As The First, But It Will Be Better In Different Ways.

And I Find Myself Saying, “it Wasn’t Really About Her.” And Finding It’s True. What Do You Mean?” Norah Asks. It Was About The Feeling, You Know? She Caused It In Me, But It Wasn’t About Her. It Was About My Reaction, What I Wanted To Feel And Then Convinced Myself That I Felt, Because I Wanted It That Bad. That Illusion. It Was Love Because I Created It As Love.

Self-esteem Can Be So Exhausting. I Want To Cut My Hair, Change My Clothes, Erase The Pimple From The Near-tip Of My Nose, And Strengthen My Upper-arm Definition, All In The Next Hour.