My name is Jenn.
Platitude generalization something something blah blah exaggeration, here's my ego, etc.
I have so much to say to you. I want to begin at the beginning, because that is what you deserve. I want to tell you everything, without leaving out a single detail. But where is the beginning? And what is everything?
I do have friends, but they don’t know me, only someone I’ve created to take my place. Someone sculpted from ice. I keep the melted me bottled up inside. Where no one can touch her, until, unbidden, she comes pouring out.
There was a whole world inside of her filled with stars and caves and demons and gold. She tinkered and played in that world - but it was in the space below - in the depths of deep - that the real stuff was. And it was there she needed to go.
Love equals a morbid and relentless fear of losing the other person. It’s a freak-accident fear, a piece of space junk falling from the sky and obliterating him, leaving nothing but his smoking boots. It’s the unfortunate organ-defect fear, suddenly on his thirtieth birthday, the little crack in his heart that’s been there since birth will rear it’s ugly head and take him in his sleep while he’s spooning you. It’s the only way to know you’re really in love, when you ask the question would it be harder to watch him die, or to know he’ll watch me die? It’s when you actually care to the point of tormenting worry. It’s not roses and white horses, it’s fucking brutal and it can send a person running for the hills. To love is brave.