I'm up at 5 a.m., and it's cold in the basement again despite the new summer heat. I am quiet.
You know, every morning, I choose a face. It doesn't matter which one I choose, it doesn't matter what place I have to go. It only matters that I have to constantly know that I have it on, and that however long I have to wear it, I'll be able to bear it because that is what's required of me.
I say, "This is today's face...the one that everyone will see." "Today's face is funny." or "Today's face is sad." or "Today's face says '*******' to everyone I pass."
Now, about the other day...just the way you said you hate it when I'm quiet.
I should tell you that I love you most when I'm quiet. Even though I know it bothers you, and I know you'll never buy it, It's the truth.
Because, though I've been doing it for a long time, and it's nothing new, putting on these faces often gets old.
So, even though I know it's 5 a.m. and it's cold,  I think I may need to stand up and be bold and demand that you accept me as I am, without any stipulations or a contingency plan, and without any reservations.
I want today's face to be me. I want it to be the face that you see when I am quiet, and at peace. The face you see when I am able to laugh as a child would. The one you see when I smile and kiss you, or when I crack into a good book, or ride a roller coaster.
As you and I get closer and closer I think it's more than fair that we should share who we really are with each other.
As we get to know one another, we become a part of something special that will be good for us both.
So think it out. Even though you have your doubts, you should think about it, and we should try it.
I'm willing if you are, and more than ready...If you can love me when I'm quiet.

I am ready, love, for you and all that you mean.
When I touch your skin do not expect me to quake,
and know that your kiss will not leave me unarmed or unnerved.
You are better served by a steady hand, and confident lips,
and the gentle curve of your hip will only make me sure.

I am ready, love, for all that you should require.
Do not fear that the fire of your gaze will scorch me,
or that I will wilt and wither under your hand.
I will not pale, as I hear men have, beside your charm.
It can do me no harm to love you more.

I made my way through the door, through the garden, out onto the street, and into the universe, where I saw all of the marvels this life has to offer.

Walked on sunny beaches where the sea-breeze always blows, and in quiet meadows where carnations always grow.

Danced upon the milky glances of a waning moon, wrapped myself in the dawning sun’s embrace, watched the Earth until the quiet afternoon.

Laid for countless nights with girls I know I loved too much, and spent hours peering into mirrors, with reflections anxious fingers long to touch.

Sighed in places where joints were worn frictionless by years of bliss, and one soul found another in the press of a lover’s kiss.

Wept in lonely places where people walk with heavy feet; the saddest places where two loving hands may never meet.

Learned in places where the answer and the question were one and the same; where knowledge shines, and the deepest problem is but a game.

Whispered in the ear that first heard the songbird sing, and picked flowers in the grove where ground was first touched with spring.

Spent a millennium worth of carefree strolls in the places where the thunder rolls, and beheld the hand that carefully forks the lightning.

Saw things no other man has ever seen, all at once beautiful and frightening, where the bell of eternity tolls.

Painted in galleries where no beautiful thing is taboo, and where every sorrow is a burden shared by two.

And I returned.

Returned because I remembered you.

The problem with hedgehogs is the universal one.
It's the struggle of every man lying on his back, staring at the stars,
of every woman from mars, trying to appear from venus.
It's the distance between two lovers,
and the pain of the sulking man on the bus.
The problem with the hedgehog is the problem with us.
The binding of every heart that's too large for its chest,
and the worry of the mother who can't rest because her child has not come home.
It's that we feel like we are alone when surrounded by our friends,
and that the feeling of love ends when you hang up the phone.
The problem with hedgehogs is that when times get cold and rough
they can't seem to get warm and soft enough to love.
It's the push you're always giving to keep her away,
and the words you can't find to get him to stay the night.
It's the constant fights that wear you down every day.
It's the talent wasted in pursuit of pretty words
that won't be heard by the ones we care for most,
and the ghosts in the rain of yesterday, that won't leave us be.
The problem with hedgehogs is the problem with me.

You are not blind to the fact that you have not been lucky. I can see it too, and what the world has done to you is not kind. Salt rivers have flowed in origin from you, used your burning cheeks as banks, and surged away without a word of thanks.

Do not shrink back, because your eyes that have cried rivers have also seen ten-thousand sights on a thousand different nights and been unafraid, and when they were, your heart was brave enough for them both.

Some part of you has always known that your beauty would not simply emerge by chance; that it would have to lie under the mountain that’s on your mind, crushed into the gem that some newly lucky person will inevitably find.

.