I don't want to be in love!

It's not that there are not men. There are always men, right? Just as there are always women.



Available, interesting, attending, listening attentively, nodding, smiling, practically fawning.

Because we are all alone. We are not alone. But we are alone. When it matters; in that small moment when you set your jaw, when you turn away with burning eyes, when the center of your chest cracks; we are alone.

Are you available?
For what?



Rubbish. What is the point if the potential is not there? Why bother?

I understand, the desire, though, to not dive so deep, to tread water. Isn't that what the recently abandoned, abused, forlorn, do? And while they are treading, they hold onto a bit of drift wood, just to get through, just to keep from going under again. Meanwhile, the drift wood grows saturated, heavy, weak, less buoyant. There is no where to go but under.