Entry # The First: Hello

[1] Your's all Open boundaries Hell hole confidence Drown in smoke Break back Rugby Mine's all Limitations Taunting laughter Flying underground Soft spoken checkers [2] Sometimes, You get to the point where You are a child Holding carefully onto A bright red balloon Waiting for it to befall Some unsuspected disaster. As soon as the balloon pops, Hissing gently to the ground, There is a sort of relief Nestled into the momentary grief. This small beauty you Tried so hard to protect Has died. You are no longer responsible, No more is it tied annoyingly To your wrist.

Hi There,
          I guess this is our beginning. I can feel your clean clinging to my skin. So empty, so open, so new. I could say anything, think anything, be anything with you. No, because of you. Too bad I didn't meet you after a tragic bus accident, or sitting in the park reading Pullman, or run into you carrying paint down the hall. I wouldn't mind if you ruined my dress. Those moments will never be real, because you are not someone I can recover from a concussion with, or discuss the possibility of other worlds, or awkwardly smile at over an apology lunch.
          You are not even a person. I can look past that though, if you can. I just can't help but compare our clinical, severe beginning, with the messy starts of the stories my imagination stages for me. I want to share something real this time. I want this to be the story of here, of me, of now. Thank you for beginning this with me. You're my first. I thought you should know that.

-[AMD]