Wednesday, May 5, 2010

*Sigh*

TUNES: 'I should tell you' - Rent
Mood:

. . . why do I get butterflies thinking about this guy? How is it that I can stand singing, talking, in front of hundreds of people, yet I'm still feeling like this? I can't look at a picture of him without feeling like this. I can't make eye contact with a picture of him without feeling butterflies flapping around in there.

And I still don't trust this whole 'luff' thing. I'm suspicious of it's intentions.

Maybe I should just admit it. I don't get it or even understand it because I don't even trust my own two feet. Who am I to trust this stupid stomach feeling that just came waltzing in? I'm a bit frightened. I want to trust desire -- I want to learn.

Well, here we go
Now, we . . .
Oh, no.
I know this something is . . .
Here goes.
Yes, so it's starting to . .
Who knows . . .
Who knows?
Who knows where?
Who goes there?
Who knows?
Here goes . . .
Trusting desire --
Starting to learn,
Walking through fire . . .
Without a burn!
Clinging a shoulder . . .
A leap begins . . .
Stinging
And older
Asleep on pins!
So here we go . . .
Now we --
Oh, no . . .
I know . . .
Oh, no.
Who knows where?
Who goes there?
Here goes . . .
Here goes . . .
Here goes . . .
Here goes . . .
Here goes . . .
Here goes . . .

Thank you, Rent, for being able to say something when I can't.

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