What Little Girls Are Made Of…
Did you really think you could cut out my tongue with your silence? Frankly I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to be that skilled a surgeon…do you?
Better than you have tried and failed…and limped away wishing.
I knew you wouldn’t reply to my email…
That’s okay though, if I really want to know what you think of me, I’ll read the latest offering on your blog. Because you’re concerned…and you love me in your own odd way, don’t you? And fate is recognizing the inevitable. Wouldn’t you agree?
Is it true the best poems are prayers? Because you pray with the passion of a man passing through solid objects. Did you learn these passions studying others, or would…lesser…passions distract you from your own?
Tennis when they
The net is still
You should never leave pieces of yourself where others can find them. It’s too easy to comprehend what you mean by what you haven’t said.
…how does it feel to siphon the wisdom of God and still be miserable?
…how does it feel to be alone in the arms of memory without a lover?
I know who you are…I could caress your emptiness and restore the dreams that brush your skin like an afterthought whispered in the dark. Why be…terrified? I’m not the disease you fear, just…the love you thought you recognized and the hope you once…believed.
Or, if you prefer, I’m hell. A pleasant nightmare bathed in the sweet nectar of heaven.
And you’re just a bee on a leash…
I suddenly feel…speechless…
Flattering? Of course.
Mysterious? No doubt.
But…let’s not do this…for reasons I very well know and you may not be aware of. Even the unattached should be cautious. Some people find any attention impossible to digest, it goes straight to the ego…and emotions remain as durable as rice paper. My only mistake was to believe some problems are real…or more real than they appear.
You’ll never read my response to your offer because I haven’t sent it. And I won’t. Even in the presence of angels, the best defense is a wall of silence. Don’t you agree?
And if I ‘pray’ with the skills you claim I possess…what then? Trust is still lost somewhere between death and memory…and Academy Award worthy performances just don’t work anymore.
When I die, I don’t want to be haunted.
As for deconstructing lives, weren’t you the one who wrote that bit of sorcery about spilled milk and suicide? A bit angsty, don’t you think? Or do we share the same…strange skills?
People can be more than one thing, you know…and I believe someone once said misery loves company… as often as it can. The same someone who sampled too many…delights and can’t discern between sweet and salt and sour now. His palate is ruined. What’s your taste? What’s your …pleasure? Why do you haunt strangers?
You want me to think of you as-what-Karloff in an old movie about to rob a grave? Telling the unsuspecting doctor ‘you’ll never be rid of me?’ I believe you’re just someone who married too young and had children too soon. Or perhaps you’d like to. And now you’ve chosen to cling to kindness as if you were a very old person holding an umbrella waiting for the rain.
You say we’ve met before? When?
And what was the sexiest thing we ever said to one another? Hello?