Bedtime Stories

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What better for a freak than to be loved?






There is naught.





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Lucky, blessed beyond all measure, strong in hand and heart and back, I yet fuss and mewl. Wanting to understand friendship, I shy from it and what it asks of me. Obsessed with fighting and shooting, loss and violence and rage and fear, I pretend that the other thing does not exist, or isn't important. Openness, gladness of heart, compassion, trust and warmth. Instead I add another layer of pointy sticks to my armor, search out a stouter staff, batten down the hatches and pace the floors.




Yet she still takes me close to her and reads me a story and soothes my savage soul, as if I did not offend.


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She is the sea to my stone.






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In all my life I am most proud of having won her to me.



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Namaste.



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