holden

sometimes, because of the logic of the poetry, the name of the game is hauntingly accurate. love. for instance, it was called that because if you were taken out and shown, you wouldn't know it was there. lots of people don't. it sounded obsure and exotic and i wanted to see it. i had never seen a big one and wanted to. i am young enough to be sharp as hell, for my regular doses of slammed doors, crabbily chainsmoking and the traditional family psychodramas. i am convinced that one day my heart is simply going to explode. i mean, go completely kablooey inside my chest. i don't even care. my lifestory: "the woman who desperately wanted to be hit by lightning".

until girl interrupted meets catcher in the rye.

talk about someone speaking to you from beyond. it just woke me up and never in my life have i lunged so instinctively for someone as though he was intrinsically a part of me -- like a leg or an arm i'd casually misplaced for twenty two years. he was left staring at my poor, battle-scarred soul, under the enigmatic smile. he tried to think of something, anything, he could do for me. he emptied the contents of his soul into mine. you could imagine his strength -- his soul -- was a white laser beam shooting from his heart into mine, like those light pulses in glass wires that can pump a million books to the moon in one second. this beam was cutting through my heart like a beam cutting through a sheet of steel. he could take or leave this strength that i so obviously lacked -- but he just wanted it to be there for me as a reserve.

he'd never given one nanosecond's worth of time to anyone -- all mine, just for me to hold on.

i could give my life to this man. no regrets.