I wish that I had the kind of mind that would allow full release, but the truth of the matter is that steal traps have always been my ideal. I've worked hard to build myself an island, surrounded it with mines, and loaded myself with ammunition for anyone that manages to make it onto dry land. I lay at night and watch as the screen on the ceiling replays my greatest failures and losses. I feel your warmth next to me and can't help wondering what will bring our demise. I float above us and watch myself pull away, inch by inch. I place jealousy, hysteria, impatience, doubt, and desire between us in a neat line on the mattress that the last man I loved bought. Is this it? An endless loop of love lost? Am I so jaded that I'll never heal enough to allow truth and love to permeate every fiber of my being? I want to give myself to you, but I have this odd feeling that the cup is close to empty. I worry that I'm nothing if not greedy, pulling you towards me, all the while knowing that I'm incapable of allowing you all the way in. Maybe you're different, maybe I can be. I want to be, that's got to count for something. Right?