Who am I…really? Deep down. What do I hide?
But not of the dark…I like to sleep in pitch blackness.
I am afraid of thunder and loud noises.
I hate bugs and spiders, but I can deal with those if I have to.
What if everyone finds out that I’m a phony?
What? I’m a phony?
Yes it’s true…I’m false.
I’m not happy. I’m sad a lot of the time…because I’m alone.
I’m very selfish. I don’t want to give anyone my time.
I don’t put as much time into teaching as I should…but I’m good at faking it…at making people think I’m good at it.
I don’t want to be alone. I hate walking around by myself. Never feeling someone’s arms around me…never having him hold my hand.
I read somewhere that women are attracted to men who look like those in her family. That makes sense to me. My father, my brothers, my uncles, my grandfathers…all wonderful, kind, gentle men. Why would I not be attracted to that? And for that reason, why would I not be attracted to you. You’re funny and sarcastic like my family’s humor. You’re kind and gentle and accepting of others. I do love you. So very much. I wish you could feel it. Or that I couldn't.
There are things I can’t write down. I can’t write them in my own handwriting…and sometimes I just write them with my finger. No proof afterwards that the words ever even existed. Mostly…what I write…invisibly…are my hopes that are so fragile, so heart-felt, that if they’re in words at all they may shatter and never, ever come true.
He told me that he wasn’t interested. He told me kindly, gently… And I’ve tried to get over him. I have. I really have. But he’s so…good. He’s kind, gentle, handsome and all the things that I have always hoped for. And everything new I discover about him makes me less and less inclined to get over him. I wish my head would tell my heart that it’s no use to hope.