The fine line. Oooops. “I forgot.”

There exists.

A very fine line.

Some.

May call “it” faint.

And as accurate as description as that may be.

Faint.

Is not for the faint of heart.

To be fair.

To be really fair.

Specifically fair.

Minutiae -ally fair.

We feel best when we are strong.

In our abilities.

In our convictions.

Out realities.

Our strongholds.

Yes.

Our strongholds.

Anyone can “tap”.

A shoe.

A button.

A character.

A key.

Yet.

Cannot.

Will not.

Step out of the comfort zone of all they think they hold near and dear.

Leaving everyone else.

EVERYONE else.

Holding the bag.

Their bag.

Their bag AND their baggage.

And as old as they may get and seem, and get and seem,

All along.

The baggage handlers,

do not change.

do not have any intention to change,

do not care to change.

Why?

Because it has worked for them all along.

What? The peons reply.

Has “worked all along.?”

The deception.

Of all they had pretended to hold, “near and dear.”

Worse of all.

They had the ungracious heart to blame the other in an arm’s length attempt to hold their own fear away.

When.

Can we step out of a comfort zone?

Hardly never.

Why?

Because when the deception has worked for so long. Why bother.

With the peons.

It has worked for us for so long. We are strong and they are weak. They think. Because lazy is in the eye of the beholder.

and the smartest of the universe relied on this for courtship, and longevity. The rub. The lie they refused to admit. Leaving others to take the hit and hits. For them.

So. very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very. long. Courtship. Longevity. Without giving the matter, any matter, the heart that it may have deserved. Worst of all. Blaming the heart it hoped to receive, that they stole, for the deception and deficits they brought upon themself, himself. (lk).

Why? Because the lazily that they projected upon others, is really the lazy within themselves. To work at the art of love.

The art of loving.

Why? Because rejection lies at the heart of their heart. And. As strange and weird as it may seem. They do not know the difference. They have person and persons swoon all over their “abilities”, their “looks” their glances.” When in effect. The givers of all that seems possible are actually givers of all that is shallow and blank in the world of meaning. Of teaming.

With another? May be the substance of belonging in the here. Not in the belonging of the here to there. Movements upon movements have been built on the AGE-OLD principle of aging gracefully.

Wrong.

The logical strut along. Project that the peons have had it wrong all along. When in effect and affect, the logical have been the ones who could not face it. COULD NOT FACE. Their maker. Their makers. And thus. All hell broke loose. Because to care means to have a heart. A whole heart. A biblical heart. A present heart. A feeling heart. A heart that has done the hard work of figuring out the impossible.

Love.

And.

Then.

Having the guts to say.

I am sorry.

For my faults.

My failings.

Even if and when every one believed me to be “all that.”

You say (It was not lost on me that you stood by me in my darkest times) I don’t care, do you? . But. I was too into to myself to notice. Your support.” “Thus, I starved you, and still do—except in public— of all that nature holds near and dear.” I. Simply. Cannot help myself from my addiction to myself and my need for gratification, notariaty , and puffing of my chest at the hands of any one else. Any. One. Else.

You are strong.

That is why I must destroy you any which way. Otherwise you and your revelation will be my downfall. My reputational downfall. And as grateful as I am about you getting me to this point in life.

I do not care about you or your life.

I care about my own much more, How I look. (Oh, how I superficially can handle a crown of admirers.) I am loved in ways beyond your comprehension.

Oh. Those darn misers and miners. Had not a clue. Had not one clue. That taking the dog fora a walk, meant far much more, than,

Taking the dog for a walk.

May make me look good. And gosh darn it. The dog will never know and not note and never be swayed. Wrong. Because as long as I look good to the outside world. And you look bad. All is good in my conscience and my self image.

I have to go?

You do.

You do not.

Keep the empty message coming to inflate the ego of my forgotten ness. I am all in. As long as the aplomb bombs of affection are shot in my direction, my way.I am ok. You have tried to tell me all along. I just did not care to listen because it was too hard.

I have to go to put my hurts somewhere.

So. I walk the dog. And watch the dog. Penetrate the dog’s conscience ness so as to throw the suspicion off of me.

I am sick.

Please help me.

In the meantime. I will continue to use the ones I love as the scapegoat for that which I cannot change to or be. Nor have the courage to change to be because I am weak. I can only hope I can put aside my selfish ways and embrace the one or ones who will be there to help me in my self-prison-filled existence of all things that is.

Me.

Dig. Squat. Bury.

Bury?

Maybe for some. Who felt the bury was a necessary, a neccisity .

To others.

A relief.

For the being they loved. And. loved them back.

In the sole and soul interest of.

Love.

And. Not just a roll over, good night sleep.

You are making way too much noise. It hurts me because I am weak in mind and moreso in my emotions.

Whether “it” arrives in the interest of age old practices will remain to be seen. Some intend to be “gone” while others pick up the slack of their done ness.

Right?….

What seems familiar to one.

Is downright, habit. To another.