Mess with me harder...

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, sadly the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without ever knowing what's going to happen next.

I live and breathe words. .... It was creating this thing that is not a blog that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. That I had someone I could be honest with, who would read my words, and simply understand how I was lonely and afraid, but always brave; the way I saw the world, its colours and textures and sounds, 

Yet there are things not even all of you get to know. Emotions I'm ashamed of, because words diminish them. They shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within, not for want of a tellar, but for want of an understanding ear.