another go tomorrow.

you try to take a look inside. to figure out what you're really about.
so you write.. and you write and write and write.
you write so much, if you were asked to read it aloud,
she'd be waiting tonight, next week, the end of the century for you to finish.
but we all know that won't happen. luckily that won't happen.

and you're nervous.
oh so nervous.
simple things. little things.
the way she strings sentences together..
you'd think she was the queen of wit and intellectualism.
perhaps the offspring of albert camus and liz feldman,
but that.... would just be weird.

it's weird how a skinned knee can make you feel like a kid
again, young again and a cup of coffee on occasion brings
this subtle feeling of adulthood. it's like that coffee mug
is the fluid version of bills and that monthly mortgage you
struggle so desperately to pay.

you pay the price in the form of fearing being grown up.
you trudge though all these emotions. those feelings of
i love you, hate you and whatever else comes in between.

why is it though.. that love is said to bring you happiness yet
all it ever brings is baggage and just more fear. it brings
insecurity as you watch her go and all you're left with is
knowing that you still don't know who you are.

just give this another go tomorrow.