*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.