2004-05-16
Blurred Paths
Too many feelings press and scramble inside--utter disappointment and relief at not being the person whom I used to be, the one who would have responded with bitter contempt.
Something like this was dangerous, I knew, because it leads to compromise. You think of rain and of dirt--the smell of human skin, rough against your own. Why is that?
Small problems grow monstrous in size, and I cannot handle one--not one. I can't write either, the words clog up in this torrential soul.