Going, Going, Gone
All week, a very good, close friend has been telling me to stay clear of the stalker female. To be fair, I call her a stalker, while she calls "herself" a fan. This friend, who is female, is keeping me on a short leash with this one. Not out of jealousy, but because she knows a thing or two about me these days ... and those things aren't exactly pleasant. But today, after driving home from a great dinner conversation with Mirror, the thought hit me like a sledgehammer to the teeth.
What if the focus on stalker/fan has been the wrong focus the entire time? What if she (the female friend) should have really been keeping me away from what is going on in my mind? Honestly, the stalker/fan has been an amusing distraction and little else. I have not given her much mental space, as that would only lead to distraction. But what if what I have been giving mental space to had the possibility to be more entangled than any encounter with a female reader? Wouldn't that just worry the holy Hell out her?
Yeah, it would.
My vices aren't of drugs and alcohol, but instead a tangled web of flesh that drips sweat, blood and other fun liquids. They are things not spoken of in polite company. They are the inner workings of one's soul laid bare.
What worries me is not that my concerned friend suddenly gains insight that I think but one other human other than myself could possibly possess at this point. It's what if she doesn't? Where's that leash then? Where's that voice of reason?
The answer: It's not there, and that has the potential to blow up like a thousand suns. But that's a glow I just may want to bask in.