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We just got back from town where I got scanned so my nephrologist can have some intimate portraits of me. Not that I really mind, I mean for years I’ve had doctors, nurses, and lab techs flop, shave, and dissect nearly every part of me. Hell needles used to terrorize me, now I could care less. You’d figure living with a mild case of hydrochondria, I would enjoy the attention. But often too much of a good thing can be a bit too much.
I’m in one of those moods where I just assume be left alone. But in usually human fashion, I crave the attention of those I desire. Often we find ourselves surrounded by the light of a unique individual. Someone that fascinates us to no end. Who’s internal and external beauty captivates us with a pull of energy that often can be quiet embarrassing. Yet like the lovesick puppies that we often are. They dominate and overtake our thoughts. But for people like myself, where often too much of a good thing is just too much. Our minds repel what our hearts know are true. We long, we burn, and we physically ache for their attention. But somewhere buried deep we never see ourselves as good enough. So we walk away. Words come easy to my heart. Especially in the silent corners of my being. But to physically express that love, it’s often so hard. Especially where expectations are demanded to be met, by those that seldom ask and often assume.
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January 2026
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