Nowhere. Again on a standstill. Aware that somehow we must move forward from where we are, but afraid of moving too fast. Separated by others unaware of our dance, we cannot take cue from each other.

Is this metaphor the seed of my madness. I talk about us, what we do, the efforts we make to inch ever so slowly to each other. But we are a non-entity.

I find myself making declarations of love to the universe. To no one, to everyone, to you: statements raw in their honesty, bared but veiled by unexpectedness. No one understands what they mean. No one believes. Will you know you are the cause of my happiness? Will it alienate you?

I can wait forever, till this love dies, or till it grows. If this is going to happen you must make the move. You must make yourself ready. You must make certain that you love me, or that you want to explore that feeling with me. All I can do is be open. You must walk through the doors of my heart. Well, I suppose you must decide to pry it open, to knock, to ask to be let in.