After he left me hanging by a heart string, as I dangled like a prisoner in a cold, damp, grey dungeon, I thought of life, love and me.  Wrapped in my series of ricocheting thoughts, the chain finally snapped, and I emerged a bit more unaware.  My skin, baby soft; my footsteps, more delicate and fragile;  my thoughts so deep, yet so hollow.  My heart was flickering from channel to channel.  Bitterness, strength, desperation, defeat, tension, eruption, release…

Love makes about as much sense as God, but love is more believable.  For a majority of my life I feel I had been disallusioned about love.  I knew what it felt like, but I knew little of how it functioned.  A piano can make you happy— even hitting keys ignorantly, can lift you up— but that doesn’t mean you know how to play.  I’ve still many keys to ignorantly hit.  I’ve still many keys that haven’t been hit.