of fragile things

i wanted someone who reads. who can write. who talks sense. who talks of things that could be and will be. and not hold on to what had been. in the past. cuz all of those grand things were in the past. and they're no longer for us. i wanted someone who'll tell me of the possibilities and tell me that he's kissed me the way peter parker kissed mary jane before, and altho i don't remember it, he'll ask, is it because we've done that countless times that you don't remember? yes, sticks and stones will break the bones.. and words DO hurt/break the HEART. AND AM MOST DEF WONDERING WHY YOU ARE INTERESTED IN ONE GAL, IF SHE'S ALREADY AT WORK, OR IF SHE SEEMS SAD, WHEN IN FACT YOU NEVER ASKED ME IF I WERE REALLY THERE OR IF AM REALLY SAD? WHEN ALL YOU CAN TELL ME IS QUIT CRYING? quit me, if you will. -- i'm not speaking to shobe. i am angered and ashamed cuz of all this crap. altho, in the end, i'd still love her. she should know that. -- fittingly, today, my heart is ill and my body is more frail. i went home, almost cringeing in pain. menstrual cramps. i forgot to take pain killers before it would even start eating me. the cramps ate me today. -- gawd, someone can really ruin the most uneventful, boring night and make a circus out of your pathetic existence. i wish i were home. if i knew exactly where home is. This, .. is when we become truly human, fully ourselves, beautiful. To swim when your body is made for swimming. To kneel when you feel humble. To drink water when you are thirsty. Or --- if one wishes to be grand about it --- to write a poem that is exactly the fitting receptacle of the feeing or thought that you hoped to convey. - On Beauty by Zadie Smith