There's always questions. First it's always 'why?' that's when you're still not over the denial, and the unfairness sinks in. Next it's blame (I spy with my little eye...)
I can take you through the processes of the human psyche. Or I can tell you how I deal with it. I'd rather the latter. I make no secret of how selfish and unfeeling I am. It's disgusting really.

This is not a safe space, and I have nailed my heart to the back of that boat and it has set to sea. I want it to rot away.

I have to abandon writing as though I possess a monopoly on the universal truth. I do not. I will leave collective conscience for another time and story. Universality only works for so long, and for so many ears.
New Creative Outlook 101. Bring back the self. I am self-centered again.

O what have you done?

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

I want to get high. Just so I can hold down my body from getting up and swaying every time you open your mouth to sing, or every time you pluck your signature chord. you are my counterpart. I've heard your voice before, a hundred times over, and I'd hear it a thousand times more. I freeze up when realisation hits me. What's mine is yours what's yours is mine. My voice wavers when I'm emotional and I can't sing when I'm lying down. I'll show you mine if there was any remote possibility you'd show me yours.

I like compartmentalising my thoughts in chaos situations (this is not the time, as in not this time, that is, not right now). But I go to the blank white room in my head, and shut the door behind me. My thoughts run pell-mell into each other on another plane on loop (when the floors of memory and rational thought dissolve). I think I'm trying too hard again, and I'm thinking too much

Fuck you.

Once upon a time

she tells me a story about her life. It's a central image actually, around which her life revolves. It's Jessie Weston and James Frazer for Eliot and his resulting masterpiece. It's archetypes to human free association. I am only trying to impress upon you the significance of the image. Think of a snapshot that captures your heart, soul and emotion. It is not my story, but it's the story of my life, and yours, and it is sensual, it's every feeling between happy and sad.

Tell Mina that image is every image in my head, it's every moment in my life. It is a snapshot of a beautiful sunny day at the beach and the details are so vivid, it is devastating. Those details make up my life. I can spot a grain of sand, because it calls to me, and only me, and you. The ocean sings to me, I can feel the tenors in every sparkle where the oblong rays of the sun fall on the ripples of my kingdom and it ebbs and flows and crashes in my ears, making a symphony of my life. I can spot seashells in the swollen belly of the shore, and the pregnant wave is ready to hit my knees, and I am ready to collect the seashells. And I'm waiting for the water so I can sink my hair and submerge my soul. It fills in me such a feeling of fulfillment and contentment, and my head is filled with circles. I always find circles are laden with so much meaning, don't you? I am waiting for the moment to happen. I am thinking of only one thing: I must collect the seashells, because laughter filled with joy and rapture surrounds me, and it is my best friend, and my teacher, and his sister, and my lover, and you, and her, all around me. There are so many beautiful seashells, and I am a collector of the highest caliber. It leaves me there, and I'm sure only you and everyone can understand the spectrum of emotions in my life. Every feeling between happy and sad.

I am inspired every day. Don't you think it's kinda cute that I wear the stars on my sleeves, and see the world through my heart-shaped sunglasses? So Lolita-in-the-New-World.
White lights, in your arms tonite.
Till I lose sight.
Tripping through your psychedelic reds makes me a little dizzy. For one day, I'm the bare-foot girl with the wild hair.