I can not sleep, so I have decided to come back to something old. Very old. In my mind ancient, only dug up for me by recently made companions. I was hoping to come upon this thing to find something in particular but instead my mind is unsettled by the night, and I write to ease the anxiety in my belly. Physical manifestations of red tongue tied sailors who are too drunk to laugh and too tired to cry. That seems to be the medium of which they operate this time of the month. In extremities. the music calms me, almost maybe. My mind is desperately curious as to what his mind writes for.This is this overly conscientious lady that dances in my mind daily, telling me that there is something wrong with my lack of excitement for certain things. I come to think tonight how limited my experience is with these things, and just now coming to know what I like after such a long hiatus of desire. I think what if, what if certain things had not frightened and stifled my desire. What if I had been confident then with that man, the one who i feel is ironically a blessing in disguise, conceptually of course. For I carry my own weight. He just taught me the beauty of challenge and although our interactions are limited, it is probably better that way, seeing as I am prone to paranoia out of habit.from lack of understanding of him, us. from lack of confidance in myself. In thinking about the past six months, i think "i want more." -- is familiar, but there is a a lack of enthusiasm in our air. I want more. And I want that more to be manifested in another's fresh excitement for me. And now i've found it and i am reluctant to share lemons. certain things are natural, yes. but i have found it and it feels like i am still fighting with myself as usual, as to whether to accept roses. no body ever gives me roses. these metaphorical roses. i feel that in causuality, there is more to his step. my step is light, my step is full of smiles. i like to complain, but my step is full of smiles. she sees it. she says "just admit it." I love the people here. is there something wrong with not feeling full force that which i am given? is there something wrong? these hands were not made for hurting. maybe i am too obsessed with rectifying old things that have been misconstrued. and maybe i am still trying to understand this self. maybe i have very few models of camparison and so i regard everything as universal, all things as same, as good and bad, as devoid of unique-ness. maybe i am just scared, as it feels i have always been. but much has intrusively scared me over the years. and i dont speak of these things. i dont speak of them because they make me shiver, they make me nausious, and yet slowly, slowly i heal. and increasingly i want to overcome. i regard everything as a challenge, and challenge brings beauty. will this be beautiful?