Tuesday, Jun. 13, 2006
lonely and distracted
I sit at one in the morning, bleary-eyed and reading awful stories written by pre-teens.
(because as much as I'd hate to admit it I want love, I need love, I believe in love.)
Preteens (think they know it all, and think they have a good concept of what love is.).
Preteens (know deep understanding and deep levels of caring and love without all of the pain and fear and anguish.).
Preteens (may not necessarily know true lust, but they get it.).
I sit here at one in the morning, bleary-eyed and reading awful stories written by pre-teens.
(because I don't want to admit that I'm alone, and would rather be fast asleep in a warm cocoon of blankets and a kind lover who knows what it feels like to want love, need love, believe in love, and to have love.)
Stories (with bad punctuation and spelling and that are factually inaccurate.).
Stories (of love and romance and heartache and reunions and hope and fear and fantasy.).
Stories (written as an escape from reality and the pain of every day living.).
Stories (written with a dash of hope by people just as lonely as me.).
I sit here at one in the morning, bleary-eyed and reading awful stories written by pre-teens.
(because as pathetic as it seems, we're all looking for an escape from something and a place to call home.)
I sit here at one in the morning, bleary-eyed and hating the fact that I want love, I need love, and I believe in love.
theparisian at 5:00 a.m.