Picture this

My troubles started with a photo.

I had good reason to want the photo. But maybe you could ask whether I wanted to get caught, carrying it in my pocket.

Having it in my pocket, you should say. It's hardly carrying a thing to have it in your pocket one evening.

But how should I know that it was real? It's possible I suffered for nothing. Because Mrs Z was upset, of course she was, that the picture was of someone slim and attractive.

And I assumed -- I'm not hardbitten, you know, just foulmouthed, it's not the same thing -- that I had not been taken for a ride.

But maybe I was taken for a ride.

You have to believe that someone who will not tell you who they are, what they are called, would be willing to do that. How can someone care for you who will not tell you who they are? Is that even possible?

I'm willing to believe it's possible because I'm willing to believe.

What a sad fucker! Anyone can borrow a picture. It's like borrowing a name. Do one and why not the other?

Still, it's nice to dream. It's nice to believe that in a cruel world there are somewhere some people who you can touch and who can touch you.

I don't hide. I am who I am. I'm not scared. The beautiful thing about the interwebnet is you can take it or leave it. I'm not trying to be left but I'm not begging to be taken.

I don't really understand hiding. I support it, of course I do, but I can't understand why, when you have the whole world a click away, you'd want to be someone else.

And I am for real. I'm not some sad cunt trying to make something out of nothing. Why wouldn't you want to feel my breath on your cheek, have me whisper in your ear? I am just reaching out, my fingers dangling in an impossible space, I cannot possibly... but if I can...

Believing that I can, I will hang for a photo, real or posed, I will put myself out there, I will be real, even in virtual, unreal, untouchable space. I will believe in you. I feel not an ounce diminished for it.

posted by Dr Zen @ 10:54 pm