Jan. 13, 2004 @ 9:06 p.m.

Looking at you through eyes like mine appears as if rose colored glasses were permanently attached to my retinas via some form of long-term contact lens therapy for the colorblind. Feeling your skin through my fingertips as if tiny micro-sensing applications have been applied, sending visions of soft, delicate flowers blowing in the summer wind through my rose-color altered eyes, because the softness of your skin reminds me of freshly picked rose petals minutes after a full spring bloom. My fingers reach out for yours just like the freshly mangled rose petals of my sense of touch. A white rose through my eyes looks a healthy shade of pink, flattering and unreal. I want so badly for a doctor to sincerely, professionally tell me that my eyes weren’t altered, that my fingertips are completely normal and that everything I feel right now is something completely harmless, like bunnies. But even fluffy white, or in my case, pink bunny rabbits have mouths. Do you know what they can do? All mouths can bite. The only comment remaining that is able to provide me with content after such revelation from someone with a dusty plaque, holding a notarized paper, centered on the wall of a dingy, sterile, off-white room, would be something to the effect of, “…but her teeth are made of rubber.” I could laugh hysterically at such a comment, with a deep, relieving sigh, smile and walk away as if my ride home was one that entailed floating there on a cloud. As if the journey there was taken by running over a rainbow or watching the rain fall right at my feet as I parade, homeward bound, to you, my fictitious, rubber tooth bunny.