This is going to be stream of consciousness, purely that. So don't exepect to make sense of it. If you do, well contend yourself with the thought that you know me so well and if you don't, don't worry, you and I are still trying to make me.
So much oh so much to be glad about, I think it ought to be Thanksgiving instead of Christmas. Heck, I feel like a sitting duck, a turkey myself. How foolish to have thought differently. But of course. No wonder. Oh my God, and to have believed even for a minute that it is uniquely my charm, my way of being. But no, it's a lack there that makes me lustrous here.
And then here on this side, I have now, everything. Or will soon. I hope, God, I hope. It's true, soulful and everything any one could want. Intelligent. Who can resist intelligence? Of this kind, mixed as it is with kindness? Ah heavens!
Books, I'll drown in them for another week. Let them make me laugh, make me cry and make me long... Let the week not be long though. Books, they will be my salvation and joy.
Oh kindness so much of kindness.
A good person. No wonder.
I'll kill my man if he ever describes me as a good person. So reductive. No, that I am not. I'm alive, I'm intense, I'm passionate, I'm unreasonable, illogical, and poor at math, but a good person, never that. I'm a witch. A double trouble bubble cauldron witch with magic, with moonshine and fairydust and all the winds to whip at ease, at my leisure.
The sea it churns, it slaps the rocks, it shudders, it wails while the mountains watch now with longing. Ha! The sun shines with heat. And the sea rages. And it is quite still on sands that calm under the moonlight, a fairy night, a full moon night without a Spasmoproxyvon, with just magic and a loving heart.
You will beg, I said; and so you did. You will return, I said; and so you did. You will want, but more you will need, I decreed. And so it is. You will touch, breathe, feel, ache and desire. Me. And you do. Break the spell if you dare. But you cannot keep me, you will not keep me. As I will so mote it be. In the mire, I'm the only fire, a cold heat that's no comfort to you. But that is as it should be. Merry meet and now it is indeed merry part.
Blessed be - if you can.