Those that know of my celibacy were told that it was done for spiritual growth. In truth, it began as a form of self-punishment, and the fear of another pregnancy. The longer it goes on, the more reasons there are to add. Initially, it simplified so much. Now, sex has too much weight and importance. It has become impossible to separate it from every emotion one is capable of experiencing. And what else can be written about sex, when it has come to feel unnatural? My sensuality has taken to a cave, where it can pretend to study the bible in peace.
When the monsters hid, the hunt was much better. They have become socially active citizens. They are everywhere, and refuse to move so that I can pass safely. If it is fantasy that inspires the creation of a delightful reality, what can I do with these monsters of mine? There is no place for them at the restaurant with the best ice cream floats in the state. No one will move to allow for my creatures at the movie theater. This makes them cling to me tighter. Then I cannot hide my insecurities, my fear of intimacy, my eccentricities. It is funny, I think, that I love monsters so much, just not my own.
What enters the heart, will write its story in the mind. Never stay behind, guarding the ghost town from nothing at all. Alone, one is left with no choice but to be everything to oneself. But I am not a doctor, not an astrophysicist, not a waitress with cat-eye spectacles.