EXPOSED

Every time I pick it up to write something in it, I realize that I am not comfortable with the idea of privacy anymore...that I rather you hear it, I rather you read it, I rather share my thoughts with you...and get the assurance in your eyes that i am not crazy...that I am not alone.

I am no longer guarded. I no longer a need to hide the little booklet under my bed, hoping no one would find it, read it and...laugh?

I rather put it out there with all honesty...that's why the new booklet I bought is still empty...cause I want you to hear me now...is this what intimacy is about?

This is why Sohrab's poem makes no sense to me anymore:

"beh soraagheh man agar meeyaeed, narm o aahesteh biyaeed...
Mabaadaa keh tarak bardaarad... cheeni naazokeh tanhaayeh man..."

Cheeny naazokam shekast...and I am fine.

I have been exposed...finally....and I am fine.

Is this why you came?... to expose me?