...and counting.

It's that feeling that I get that I hate most of all. Like when you go to sit down and some jerk's being all funny and has stolen your chair away and you're left all helpless, the butt of their humor, and for a split second all you feel is shock and terror and the sensation of falling.

I mean, it's not a big deal - they just took your chair away, it's been happening since kindergarten. It's that fleeting feeling of panic and helplessness as you become gravity's victim that I truly dispise. Caught off guard, no control over yourself. Vulnerable.

I can no longer remember the precise sequences of our first interraction... Indifference corrodes the memories of you when I don't think on them every day. They remain though, like tarnished brass, a common mineral that was never gold to begin with... so if they are of no value, why do I allot them any measure of worth?

Tarnished brass still catches the light, and in doing so reveals it's ugliness... deflecting the marred glints into blinding rays that disturb the senses, if only for a faint fleeting second. Fleeting, though still enough time to stumble. And if I am careless, enough time to fall.

And so for a blinding moment I find myself helpless, shocked, terrified, once more the butt of your counterfeit joke.

...For a moment. And then I pick myself up again.

this blog was composed by Anne at 1:00 in the morning following a night of four hour's sleep.