What is it about warm beverages that inspires two people to divulge heart-ache tales about the cracks in their carotids? The tea lubricates the conversations that make some (like myself) a bit uncomfortable. My heart perspires (leaky valves) by its own volition; the new puncture wounds (sometimes self-inflicted) are best left to be healed by meaningful silence and sleep. And every once in a while, I'll rant to my hetero life-mate; but that's different.
Then why do two people blunder through a "broken-hearted" deep-n'-meaningful? Do I blame the ambiance of the café? The caliber of my company (the highest, assured)? One cup in and, before I knew it, I was gabbing about my string of rotten encounters with the reoccurring name (for the sake of this blog, let's call it Boy X) fiend(s) that have wreaked havoc on my heart-strings over the course of three years. Two years. Three years. A lifetime, as far as I'm concerned. Boy X is the nitroglycerin to my heart palpitations... No, he (plural) is the plaque on my arteries... Can you tell I'm not a scientist by profession?
Regardless, here I am revisiting the verbal blathering once again in a virtual setting. A journal is the saving grace of the human condition. I'm not sure what a blog is, besides addictive.
I'm listening to "Lua" by Bright Eyes.
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