EPT2. When you know the words you want to hear won't come, do you still pick up the phone and dial or text? Our closest friends and family whom we've shared our experiences and thereby a piece of our souls, are so tremendously valuable, so precious - they are our shining safe havens in our minds as we walk through Gotham City.
3. Love and hate are entwined like threads of a rope each wrapped snugged around the other. Knots can form as distinct memories supercharged with emotional energy no one but you and the other can understand. And as the relationship grows, so too does the love, but not the hate no it exists dormant like a lysogenic virus no it lies invisible the sleeping giant it is. And the days go by and the peak grows near and then one day the relation ends, having come to the top of the mountain, it's either stay there together and enjoy the view, or see another mountain to tackle, but find the other prefers to stay or climb one even higher. Paths diverge, although the bond remains, the hand stretches out to grasp the others not physically but mentally as one walks away and the other, staying, stays away. And one day months later maybe only weeks or maybe years, encountered again the two friends or the two lovers. How much you've changed. How different you've become. But maybe that's how they'd always been, they just never saw it, tying their threads together, the one becoming like the other. The flaws become visible and infest the mind and all that love once so strong begins to wane.
Having stood at the top of what a relationship can achieve, and having gone separate ways, severs the rope, sliced at the top, the threads of love and hate unravel so that not bound together as one, but separate unlinked entities.
Delay that ultimate friendship because you grow too close and have to make a choice of forever alliegance or losing a person intimate to your soul.
4. Days I may go not consuming salt or sugar or drinking anything besides water. Normal is bread plain with ham and only mayo and mustard if I am energetic enough to lift a finger and grab a knife. Dinner can consist of the same meal 4 or 5 days in a row, necessary dietary nutrients supplemented by vitamins and milk. Do I enjoy my meals? No. But do I dislike them? Obviously not enough to change anything. The answer may be I do not mind not satiating my taste buds. But don't get me wrong. A chocolate cake suffused with caramel and vanilla and bits of cherries and chocolate chips taste just as delicious to me as to anyone. I think the difference is I don't feel a compulsive urge to satisfy this pleasure pathway.
What gets me off besides porn are feelings. So naturally I'm addicted to movies and stories. The Shawshenk Redemption, Good Will Hunting, movies exploding with feelings, so real and urgent are like 2 hour long porn fests except I orgasm in my mind. And a good book or a moving piece of writing, maybe not as easily consumed as a movie, can also hit the spot. The depiction of something truthful, something imagined, or carrying an implicit meaning or moral, hold delicious beauty I can't cobble into words. It's the feeling of . . . some thing about the world or more accurately my world being completed. Like a bow tie to line around the constructs of how I perceive reality.
