As I sit in this room, the smallest room in the house, I can feel little rain drops on my skin. I can feel the wind, and hear the thunder more vividly than anywhere else. My head is still slightly sore to the touch, and there is a little X where my heart should be. It's funny how 'love' works, and it is the most effective torture device I know of. It is almost like a ghost, filling you so full that physical manifestations appear, in pain and on skin. I would like to think I am loved, but I'm afraid to ask why.
There is a little kitten sleeping on my head. He does not ask for my love, but he gets more than any human in this little house. It