I'm Not Crazy Or Dangerous,

Of Course He Freaked Me Out. Of Course It's Nothing To Do With Me. But None Of That Matters. He Loved Me And Now He Doesn't. I Was Everything To Him And Now I Am Nothing.

I Wouldn't Say That My Emotions Are Extreme. I'd Say They Are Committed. My Moods Are The Equivalent Of Madonna's Dancing: Inappropriate But All-out. If I'm Going To Be Sad, I Might As Well Be The Saddest A Girl Can Get. And If I'm Happy, I Want To Be The Happiest. The Trouble Is, I Feel Highs So Ecstatic That Just Being Normal Feels Like A Thousand-mile Drop And Being Unhappy Is Excruciating.

We Intersect. He Says He Thanks Every Star That We Existed On The Same Celestial Plain. But Here We Are On Earth, Dirty, Well Used, A Man-made Throughway For Intersecting Dreams.

I Think It's Sort Of The Hypothetical Point Where Communism And Fascism Meet. They Love Tragedy, And They Love Surface Beauty. You Just Watch It Play Out Over And Over In The Media. It Was The English Edition Of Glamour Who Were Looking For Stories Of Iraqi War Widows, But Specified That They Had To Be Attractive.

Well. There Is A Psychiatric Occurrence We See In Men-not Often Women-where They Put All Their Hopes And Dreams Onto One Person, So Intensely That At Some Point It Trips A Wire In The Brain Circuitry, And That Causes Them To Go, In A Minute, 180 Degrees The Other Way.