Feb. 01, 2004 @ 10:58 p.m.

The tiny, thunderous sounds of inner bolts crashing from within myself as everything shifts and turns completely mobile, turning plastic thoughts into chunks of flying glass that are aimed right for my head. "No throwing things!" she always said, then why am I being thrown at? I have met the glorious match of my somewhat distant, yet remarkable dream of infatuation only she hides behind a screen name. I’m begging her to come out, using treats and threat tactics, inch by inch she is creeping that much closer to me. One day, I will pounce like a lion who hasn’t eaten for eternity and for just a split second the hunger that rings it’s stomach will be silent like a battery-less cell phone in the stone age. If I may offer my cold hand to you for comforting warmth, will you lace your fingers with mine or grab it like a black magic wand, twisting and pulling like two little girls fighting over the cutest doll among the selection, when the only real choice is greed, glutton and ugliness? I’d like to think your ability to cuddle would get the best of you and my hands will be just a little bit warmer tonight.