Stream of Consciousness #2

I do not know why I wanted to cry. No. that is not true. I wanted to cry because i asked about his life and he gave me truth. and he did not ask much about me, except occasionally. he talked about his culture and lack of religion. we talked of race and religion and spirituality. i felt like i could sit on his lap and dip down to kiss him while holding his face. but then in his eyes i see genuine feeling mixed with a set professionalism. he does not want me as a close friend. he does not want to dig into my soul and sleep in it, like the little prince on the asteroid. and i want to cry because i do, i do want to tread on his soul and know it. i want to know it. i want to know everyone but i am afraid to let them see me. do i lie? do i only want to know men as a prerequisite to intimacy? if i could only see people’s souls from the inside out, hanging by their side like a heart or a fanny pack or a police baton, i would know them. and then i could decide to love them. and i would not feel bad, like that creeping maggot into your stomach into your heart and wrapping around your veins and i do not know.

I have stopped. am better now. its okay.

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