Healing of the Jilted

I've fallen in love.
With strangers.
Frequently.

Perhaps not falling in love, exactly.
A brief, beautiful, vivid fantasy.
No less real for being fantasies.
For being simple feelings of... beauty.

I'm falling for voices.
The rich, beautiful vocalizations.
The emotions, the passions, communicated through voice.
I've always heard a little more in a voice, than I'm meant to.
A skill that once opened me to pain, has opened me to healing.
To passion. To caring.
To finding something I thought was lost.

This isn't limited to singing; simply talking.
A voice on the radio.
A shared experience, with many people.
But sometimes, when she murmurs into that microphone,
I feel like I'm the only one in the room.

I'm finding romance again.
Passion again.
Warmth again.
My jilted heart, has started to heal.

Control

"I am in control of my own thoughts," I told myself, as my mind determinedly soliders on through past hurts, theoretical confrontations, and everything I logically know will likely never happen.

"Shame for you," my very reasonable tone of voice, "I have the knowledge. I read the medical report. I listened to the phone calls."

I remind myself, "I am in control of my thoughts."

Yeah yeah, whatever.

"Interesting that the first words out of your mouth, where a justification, for an accusation, I didn't make. Feeling guilty are we?"

At this point I kind of abandon all semblance of control. I am in control, but my mind won't be satisfied until it understands itself a little better, or gets bored of it.

Revelation: "I'm scary, to some people."

I smile an unpleasant smile.

"I don't deal with users." I've reached some sort of conclusion. At last.

A few more meandering loops, as my mind winds down, ending with revelations, and this conclusion.

If ever I am faced with another ultimatum, I need to step back and examine the scale. And always do the opposite thing. Or maybe not the exact opposite thing. Find my own way, to step over that line.
Because I am in control of my thoughts, and my life.

You Can't Hack Paper

You can't hack paper.
And nor can anyone really read my handwriting.

I'm glad I have the presense of mind, to write the truth to paper, when the truth must become manifest.