I've always had an open heart. The little girl who was admonished by my dad not to wear *it* on my sleeve. The woman who searched for love with a passion few men understood or could match, almost always ending up in the wrong place with the wrong guy, getting *it* broken a hundred times in a thousand different ways. (I started to write, "a thousand times in a million different ways," but that seemed a tad hyperbolic.)
I wish I could close *it* a little. I get tired of getting hurt, I grow weary of taking things to *it*; taking things personally, taking things seriously. I want to dump my expectations of love in the LA River, where there's no water for floating; my feelings would crack into so many smithereens, a natural transmutation into dust. And I could start again, with the wisdom of a woman who knows better than to give without the commensurate taking.
I could go on about this subject, but I have a creative meeting in about 30 minutes, at which I will, alas, give all of *it* again.
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