It wants me to have her. It actually wants me to get her. But it’s never aligned itself to my own desires. Could that be a blessing, Paranoia? “Take it as you will” it sighs before sinking down into my gut, leaving me fearless and next to the girl I’ve fantasized about fucking for the past three years of my sordid life.
Thank you, Paranoia.
Let it be known; Julian has thanked the Paranoia for the first time, after 133 pages of struggling against it. Is it a coincidence that this seems to coincide with my own deals with my demons, my plea bargain of guilt to myself? I don't know. Perhaps I just think too much and too floridly.
Evolution continues, slow as it may be.
