I don’t know if it’s the drugs, or the illness, or the windshield therapy, but once again I see the matrix. I see everything.

I see that she really likes me, and her eyes are just yearning for me to speak my desires—desires that flow so easily electronically—yet I sit silent. Wanting to speak. Battling that ancient programming that is telling me she doesn’t want me to bend her over that table and take her to the moon and back.

Yet, she does.

So, why can’t I say it? How many more opportunities will she give me to say it? Or is she already finished?

When will I realize that she is throwing herself at me? She wants to be adored! Loved! Fascinated!

And we have that. We’ve always had it.

Until I decided I really like her.

And in walked fear. And closed me off in my own little world. And now I am eight-hundred miles away from her. And thinking of no one but myself.

It’s not fair to her. It’s not fair to my friends who put up with me. Hell, it’s not fair to me!

So, why won’t I just blurt?

“God damn it! I like you!”

How do I burn this mask in effigy? Once. and. for. all!

God damn it!

I like you!

I want you!