cold. oh yes. the hard look and sharp cool edges. the big stop to excuse me or good morning, or how about... that was you. rolling your eyes at the drug induced clown trying to drag you out to dance. you needed to be inspired you said, and off he went, deflated like a sad little blue balloon.
then 20 years beat you in to shape with its long list of to-do, mounting responsibilities and bills, bills, bills...speckled with mosh pitted feelings, you felt the crushing and straining of your little cardiac muscle. they put it through the wringer baby, made you pulp...all the way around.
crazy glue. a little bit of indifference and concentrated therapy set you steady to open the flood gates and let the coldness drain.
you're a warm fuzzy presence now. a comfortable chair. the quiet sensible shoes. the hot afternoon beer.