I was always a talented young... Now I'm a little more of just a talented... 

But it seems that, recently, the descriptions have shifted again. Have I shifted, has my perception of myself moved along a line I was unaware of, or has something changed, Actually changed.

I wonder, if you loved me best when i was dirty with flour under my fingernails. Or if I was best loved, somehow in a backward universe of fetishistic explorations, as a controlling maniac. I can answer that for all practical purposes with my own paranoid sense of self. But i want to hear it from you. I want to hear in that little voice under the sheets that you wanted me to go back, to find the root, to be crafty and get rid of the business credit card. 

Not that it matters, because we all know that when i make up my mind, god help us all. I have felt the itch, the burn, the tingle of flesh that harkens this sort of thing. I just didn't expect it so suddenly, so deeply, so now. 

Going to sleep with the taste of failure in my mouth, waking at 4 in a panic and cramping in my middle, and then rolling back and forth in the dark for hours until the middle of the morning and obligation pulled me from the darkness of the bedroom with no windows and the tangle of sheets and pillows i have cocooned myself into. 

The morning had scents of lemon, of fresh bread, and of hot coffee. It also had the ice water down my back feeling that this may in fact be real. That like so much else in my life suddenly, I cannot continue to live a lie, to fight against myself in a demonstration of self love. The closer I come to authenticity, the further I get from my comfort zone. Some sort of social engineering inverse relation equation, in order to truly live we must force the pain of living to reach our hearts and minds. 

I suppose all that is left to do is to drop the hammer and watch the heads roll. I do know though, in the midst of trying to find myself, that I may find myself alone without some of the bodies i have so lovingly strapped to myself. That some of the beating hearts may not be beating, but instead convulsing in the throes of death and dismemberment.

To new adventures. For better or worse. I know that I have my ride or die tucked in safe next to me, and the knives are all having their razors edge reinstalled. Tomorrow will be a new day, a better day, a different day if nothing else.

I wonder though, at the end, did you love me best with flour under my fingernails. I would give anything to know.