Always reading as a child in some dark corner, my mind would take an idea and make it into the most outrageous thing, then off on a brain trip, I’d keep myself entertained. I think in pictures and phrases, and repetition gives me comfort as a creature of habit.
There’s no off switch for someone like me.
As an adult, my eyes see things and make an imprint for me to experience repeatedly until palpable…and I get emotional.
I don’t watch or play games on my phone, honestly, I can barely use it, therefore, it’s an intimacy I’m not used to. I think that’s why when I hit the app icon, and you pop up, I always jump and become a tickled toddler, surprised a picture is moving before my eyes.
As I watch your creative beauty unfold in the palm of my hand, I cry juicy tears. It’s happened multiple times.
There’s an addictive sweetness to your personality and to your talent and to your rhythm and to your voice. I swoon, heat pervading my chest, warming up my throat.
My hands overlap at the nape of my neck, tight as a black and blue butterfly just before flight.
I fear things that make me feel as good as you do…Oh, the glow of such a passionate soul.
Time will heal my fear, but until then, I’ll just keep writing here.
Hopelessly Inappropriate Thoughts 