I’ve been scared of shadows and tall things in the night. Of speaking and of silence. Of all things profound and real—of everything that happens when we blink. “Put faith in the lord!” My grandma will remind me. “Let the divine protect you,” in between each molecule of madness, anti matter, and what not (I’ve never been good with science-y things despite my strong inclination [obsession] with medicine, and two chemists for parents).

I’m having those thoughts again. No! Not those thoughts. Just my mind has lost its brief aversion to all things angsty. My girlfriends have been bringing me tea and things of that nature. Blowing me kisses and letting me indulge in the fine art of the “melodrama.”

I think of love and what it takes. Perhaps it’s a convergence of the snake shedding of the exterior and a little spooky action at a distance. (Again! Please forgive me for my complete and utter lack of knowledge in these matters).

Or maybe love is purely the snake skin. Is my latter theory duller or more exciting than the former? “Find out next time on…”

Forgive me. I kid.

Is this a joking matter?

Remains to be seen.

When I think of love I think of all the priests in my life. Metaphorically, of course. You know I pray every night and all but I’m not like tight or anything with any priests. I think of the men I turn to for Judgement. “Father let me repent. Let me tell you all that is wrong with me and let me be your little mouse anyways!”

As I write, I wonder if that’s all it is. I will build up my world in a million ways all in six days, but let me have the seventh. Just build me a little cotton ball bed. Rest your thumb on my third eye. And call me your little mouse one more time?