the prefect common sense they think we have.

Oh me. Oh my. Oh see. Oh sigh. 

I've been thinking lately perhaps we believe all the wrong things at all the wrong times. 

What if you were everything you'd always hated only you never saw it? How awful would that be?

I don't want the softness now. I want the sharp edge: the sheer wall: the sultry sin: the wild and precious scream.

And perhaps in the end when I get exactly what I bargained for: the regret will swallow me whole. But that moment is far off still: and courage is a giddy thing.

Flippity-floppity, zippedeedoodah-zippedee-ay. And all our bitter, happy hearts fall out of the sky. 

And here we all still are: running around in this tiny little world doing awful, awful things: hoping and praying that one day someday soon everything will be alright. 

And what if you're never sure of the things you're not sure of: and what if you stay stuck and silent? 

This getting over of fears and things: they never tell you about the endless back-and-forth under the sun: in the rain: on the moon.

And I would walk forever: over sun and under sea: by myself and silently: if I could keep this moment and these sensible irrationalities.

Oh me. Oh my. And I stand up for this one thing: the seeing and the sighing, and the leaving behind. 

And the people you meet: and the people you used to know and what it all meant in the end: and why sometimes you see them out of the corner of your eye: and why you choose not to see them. 

And oh: my bitter: happy heart.