Aug 16, 2004 22:16
I keep my emotions plainly displayed from the only portable showcase I have. Perhaps due to the utter disapproval of other's who hide them, who keep them tucked away for safe keeping, perhaps by default. Is it good? It's good. But a cheap display of what I'm feeling or how I'm doing is but a fraction of what's going on inside. How do those who keep it all in manage with all of that stewing in their warm innards? I can't even imagine what that must be like ("Artists" they often enough label themselves. An artist can be identified by and only by the work that they display. Not the plain sentences or the obscure opinions that enough of the folk get away on.) Anyhow, there is enough on the inside of any gals' mind to fill the grooves on every stair of every escalator step in America, and I've just got to share [force upon you!] one or two of the inane things I've got stored up there.
If love left my intestines for another, I mightn't function.
You hear others speak of their aversion when it comes to a simple touch or hug or kiss. Of course, being one who is reading this, you know that I enjoy a good touch or hug or kiss. My butterflies excite with an embrace from a good friend. Butterflies are harder to come by than most people seem to think, or maybe it's just for me, and I'll get them where I can. If you mind, I don't want to be around you. But I have found a few darling people who don't mind (who maybe even like) to help me out with this, and to them goes the next jabb.
The few people on this earth (who have been discovered thus far) that help me out every day, even inadvertently (as when they are not around). Only what, one or five or seven people read this, but to everyone who is my friend who undoubtedly knows who they are, a swarm of appreciation. Not only for the tolerance of my butterfly sprinkle fetish, but for your opinions. For your insight, for your aspirations, for your failures, for your determination or lack thereof, for your pictures, for your drawings, for your humor, for your company, even for your compliments. It all affects me every breath of every day and every. drunken. night.
I hope millions, I desire millions, I love millions, so may the future have at least twenty zeros. Ohhhh.