first, the comments...

there was a time when i sat (mostly laid prone, to be more physically precise) in my room and wrote for myself to figure out life and what was going wrong and who i really was and for amy, who represented the unconditional falling in love of libido and heart before mind ever got involved in relationship analysis or theoretical romantic notions, and for the imaginary the one that would surpass the amy-mark for attraction and obsession of the heart... and for friends i thought wanted to know me completely deeply and truly forever and ever... i was an idealist... i was a romantic... i was loyal...

years went by and i started to write for myself more to amuse myself because i enjoyed playing with words and the responses from other dwindled and the hope for reconnecting with amy dwindled and the dream of finding the one was all there was to live for besides the daily life and momentary enjoyment of living which, luckily, was almost always easy for me...

years went by and though daily life was extremely busy and full of sharing at work, at school, and at home, there was a huge part of me that was not sharing, a creative being, writer and singer and actor and artist part of me, and i wrote of the dream of finding others who would share and nurture and play with those parts of me and i realized that i missed sharing through words, so i started reaching out in pen-pal type publications and responding to strangers who reached out in similar publications and i found some wonderful letter writers who stimulated the parts of me not sharing in the daily physical world life...

years went by waiting and hoping the daily life would provide more sharing of those parts of me not sharing and i realized that to share the parts of me not sharing, i had to leave the daily life that was so full and fun on so many other levels, but so lacking in the sharing of those creative parts of me that longed to come out to play every day so i relocated my daily life and searched in the physical world for another to share life while expanding the literary sharings manyfold...

years went by and the literary sharings were wonderful, but not close enough to touch and share the creative being in the physical world so i chose from those who shared words the few who might actualize the play and devotion and nurturing and creativity that i saw and felt in the words and all through this time is was still writing for myself and for the amy-mark representatative feeling and anyone who might understand and care and maybe even want to actualize the sharing in words and in the flesh and see if the intensity of attraction and obsession of the heart could overcome the walls the mind was steadilly building to keep the weight of loneliness and dashed hopes building up over time from crushing the spirit and idealist and romantic cuz i was still loyal to the unconditional falling in love of libido and heart before mind ever got involved...

and then i stopped writing...

i think i stopped writing to give the dream a chance to actualize... i think i stopped writing because the actualization was a lot less simple and easy than i imagined it and that did not make sense and i wanted to stop letting mind analize and theorize and otherwise interfere with the libido and heart...

and then, everything fell apart...

i may have lost my senses
i probably lost my mind
i forgot how to understand
i learned how to be blind
i felt myself go under
i think i was unkind
and i destroyed the very thing
i set out to find

and then i started writing again in my room, for myself to figure out life and who i was and what went wrong and for gail, who represented my chance to actualize my dream, and for gail's kids, who represented my promise to actualize my dream, and for anyone who might care enough to help me cross a border and give the dream a second chance...

years went by and i started to write for myself more to amuse myself because i enjoyed playing with words and the responses from other dwindled and the hope for reconnecting with gail and her kids dwindled and the dream of finding the one was all there was to live for besides the daily life and momentary enjoyment of living which, luckily, was still almost always easy for me...

years went by and now i write for anyone who might care enough to remember me and for anyone who might care enough to find me and for anyone who believes in the possibility of actualize in the physical world the unconditional falling in love of libido and heart without letting mind destroy the possibility with relationship analysis or theoretical romantic notions, and for the imaginary the one that would surpass the amy-mark and the gail mark for attraction and obsession of the heart... and for friends i hope want to know me completely deeply and truly forever and ever... i am an idealist... i am a romantic... i am loyal...

the difference between now and then, however, is then i would sit down and start writing for myself first and release the day and dream and whatever else was inside and now the first thing i check when i return to the computer are the comments to see if anyone is listening, hearing, reading, caring, wanting, or dreaming along with me... first, i check the comments, to see what connections, if any, were made...

and then i write for me and...