ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \"Roll the windows down / this cold night air is curious\" - Deftones featuring Maynard James Keenan It was all so fantastical, and yet so wholly real. I could feel her, FEEL HER, I tell you, beneath my fingertips. I could breath on her neck, taste her lips, her tongue, run my hands over her body, feel her body rise with breath, smell her, all of her, gaze into her eyes. I could reach out and touch her; I did touch her; once I started I couldn't stop. I touched her, and, damnit! don't you get it? I FELT her! She is real. She is with me, in this world, suffering, smiling, breathing, touching me, feeling me, stealing me, fueling me. Together, in this, this place, this world, this vacuum, this garden. All of it is real. And for the first time in a long time so am I. And complete. And yet the rest of you will not celebrate this. You crane your neck and stagger your breathing and stare. To what purpose? What is that to attain? To scrutinize me and my happiness? To burden me with your well-rehearsed looks of discontent? To speak to me in your language; insult my intelligence by using those small words that are comfortable to only you; to bring me to your level? Why can't you either high-five me or leave me alone? It's just a place that I kill, KILL mind you, eight hours at a time and try to finish with you so you will go away. Just take your diversion and go. Please. I hate my job, but it helps me to appreciate the better moments of my life; the REAL moments. 2:28 a.m. - 2003-12-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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