Bare, Naked Ladies

The day after, my head always feels as if it is in danger of bursting. Random thoughts... snippets of conversations... they swim in a circle all day long 

Leaving me... in a surreal sense of time and space.

Leaving me... wanting more of the same, served up in the exact same manner from start to finish.

Leaving me... with a deep sense of dread as to how the hours, days and quite possibly weeks would have to be spent to make up for the gaping hole now left wide open.

Leaving me... looking forward to the next time the phone beeps, or the doorbell rings, knowing it would again lead to yet another life-changing, mind-boggling night that is both intimate yet innocent at the same time.

Can you really fault me, for feeling this way... especially when I try so hard not to ride the waves of "letting it rip".. especially when I try so hard to stay clear of all things "ME" ... yet I get taken apart without realising it, slowly drawn, dissected, analysed and put back together again to see things in a different light?

And can you really fault me, for thinking that this is one long 24-hour dream... when despite coming to the conclusion that I can only see the Ws and the Ts in myself, I am not condemned to be "dark and twisted" but told that the truth that I fight so hard to hide is a beautiful sight, and that there's hope that I would be able to see it for myself?

How can someone believe that I can be other than what I make myself out to be, when I myself won't buy it?