The Boy I Loved Didn't Know I

I'm Always Standing On The Edge Of Something Bad.

Deep Breaths. I Am Taking Deep Breaths. Composure. Which, For Me, Means Composing... Maybe This Is My Way Of Creating The Illusion Of Control Over Something I Have No Control Over. Like, If It's Just A Story I'm Telling Or A Song I'm Singing, Then I'll Be Okay Because I'm The Guy Who's Providing The Words.

I Hope That George Doesn't Internalize Her Scare Tactics. I Want To Argue With Her, Tell Her That "sins Of The Flesh" Is Just A Control Mechanism -- If You Demonize A Person's Pleasure, Then You Can Control His Or Her Life. I Can't Say How Many Times This Tool Has Been Wielded Against Me, In A Variety Of Forms. But I See No Sin In A Kiss. I Only See Sin In The Condemnation.

Be Careful What You're Doing, Because No One Is Ever Who You Want Them To Be.

I Know I Should Just Leave. Just Go. Because There's A Point Where A Mistake Turns Into A Big Mistake, And I Should Probably Come To My Senses Before I Get There.