- secrets and games and people having conversations behind masks. layers beyond layers, and on the surface, people talking about anatomy. every night it seems, there is something to stretch my mind with, and i fear i'll never figure it out, i'll never have the ability to see what lies behind each nuanced word.
why is this little boxed-in world so vital to me? what draws me back, unthinkingly, a swallow on her migratory path?
not the secrets, i think. not the bright new friendships -- though they make it a pleasure every night. not the idea that i might actually be able to help -- i'm not naive enough to claim that power.
to admit this is to risk embarrassment, but...
honesty compels me.
the lure i cannot resist is the chance to have more words from him. the few addressed to me are the best, adrenaline-laced and terrifyingly wonderful. the rest are a solid warmth that i return to repeatedly. i love his words. for them, i will swim in the bottomless currents that seem to make up this cloistered creation. for them, i will take liberties with strangers. for them, i will oh-so-willingly suspend disbelief and embrace credulity.
everyone is a fool in the quiet hours of the night.
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