whoareyou?

I look into his face and he looks back. I look into his eyes and they look back at mine. Then they look at my mouth so I look at his mouth, then back to his eyes, backing up, at his whole face. I think, Who? Who are you? His head tilts to one side.
I say, "Who are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
I look at his eyes again, deeper. Can't tell who he is, what he thinks.
"What?" he says. I look at his mouth.
"I'm just wondering," I say and go wandering across his face. Study the chin line. It's shaped like a persimmon.
"Who are you? What are you thinking?"
He says, "What the hell are you talking about?"

-"Lust"
By Susan Minot

Sometimes I walk around with blinders on. This should be obvious to anyone who knows me. I think it must be a combination of tunnel vision and a survival mechanism. This lends itself to a sort of youthful innocence that can be somewhat endearing but can also lead to a lot of naivete. To me, I try to keep my head in the game but not cause problems.

So what I'm trying to say is, sometimes the clouds around my head part and show me a piece of something larger that shows me what I've been missing. This is a real What the fuck? moment for me usually. I reel and attempt to grasp the scope of what I've been too dense to see.

I just had another one of those moments.

whothehellareyou? no, really.

hearts and scars,

Josh