In that quiet moment, on the edge of vulnerability, is the most visceral in writing. Gingerly, I type out the beautiful, ugly truth and feel an immediate sense of relief and then I’m guarded – is there someone there? I protect my selves as though they were a sort of holy grail, some touchstone; whose revelation would bring the world into mass panic. In the flesh again, I know it is only my fragile ego that has suffered a moment of hysteria.
March 31, 2011