EpiphanyI hate confessions. I think they cheapen something grandiose into something pale and hurried. Yet time and again I feel the need to do just that. Did I ever tell you how empty the nights are without you near? How the noises pull at my attention as I struggle desperately for sleep? They do. The night is alive and vast when you are away. I am myself in every dark and innocent aspect, unhindered by your perspective. I wanted this, you know. I told myself that nothing could be finer. Freedom in increments, companionship in equal measure. The morning you leave I feel the slightest ecstacy of relief, and then...it’s gone. Little by little, I sEpiphany
| Anyone ever tell you that the truth is stranger than the fiction? I have to say I agree. If I told you any story about myself and fictionalized it, I would most likely make it seem more...normal. Although I think normal is such a strange word and everything that is described as normal probably is non-existant. So sticking to the dry facts instead of confusing you with my odd history: I'm a groomer from Southern California. I'm drawn like a moth to a flame to Harleys. (Which is how I met my current flame, coincidently.) I love animals-dogs, cats, snakes...you name it, I probably like it. I have a penchant for velvets and lace, silks and satins. There's something sensual about them. I enjoy writing and anything that allows me to excercize creativity. I'm also a procrastinator so don't be surprized if nothing actually makes it onto this site. I'm scatterbrained. I love Disney, with an emphasis on Disneyland. |
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Resistance is a story, surrender is an art.
"If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I." - Michel de Montaigne.
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