There is a girl.
When I
speak to her through this small
black box of mine,
seeking her with
clicks and whistles,
ones and zeros, I am full with
insecurity and
indecision. I wonder if I say
the right things, I wonder if she can tell when I am typing jokingly and when I
write with sincerity. I am
desperate for her. I hang on her every word, and my
emotions pivot on the
fulcrum of her words. I think of all the reasons that I will
never be with her.
I am torn by the
joy of speaking to her, and the
agony of not being to her what I want to be.
When I am
near her, that trail of
binary insecurities falls away like it was never there.
Everything is right and
good, and I feel like I can
do anything.
No, I feel like I can
be anything.
No, I feel like I
am everything.
No, I feel like
I am just myself,
finally. There is no
fear, pain or guilt, only joy. A
simple happiness, so
fundamental and basic, it is as if I have found the
root source of all other joy in my life. It is the
easiest thing in the world, and I love it.
Say it with me now:
"Near.....Far......Near.....Far"
Grover is a pimp.