I clasp my hands together. I shut my eyes tight. I focus.

It’s raining in Paris. The wind raps on my window. I stare out into the dark night wondering about what has happened in these last few hours.

The just side of me lashed out. With vengeance I read scores of articles on guns, murder, and American society. But all of that’s on facebook, and I don’t come here to write down what my just side thinks.

I come here to let my fragile side breathe. Waking from a dormant sleep it rises, gasps for breath, and then I set it down here. My little creature of hope & despair, fear & loathing, and longing.

Its voice is weak from lack of use, but as it stumbles out it can’t but help to wonder like Miranda about this brave new world.

But I’ll let it speak for itself.

Sometimes I think back to when I was a kid and about how much I would dread going to school. Sometimes I think about those fights my mom and I got into when I was 7 and so mad that she was late – that she wasn’t there for me until all the other parents had taken their children home from latchkey. Sometimes I think about the night my dad let me watch a scary movie and I was convinced that every shadow was about to bring about my premature demise.

Then I come back to today and I realize that I’m still weak in these same ways. So much of my life is beyond my control. I don’t take solace in this fact. I’m not going to lie and say I love the spontaneity of it all, or that the predictable is boring.

Routine is fucking great, as are safety, stability, happiness, comfort, and love.

In this crazy world of ours we forget that we are fragile creatures, or as one of my favorite lyrics goes, “What a shame we all became such fragile, broken things.”

Except I don’t agree. We don’t become fragile. We are born this way. We have to accept that we live in a world that is weak and broken, a world of souls pushed out into something they were never prepared to handle. So, we learn to handle ourselves, and by golly we come to think we’re pretty good at it. But to be honest, to be.. completely, brutally honest..

we aren’t very good at it.

Sometimes I stare up at the ceiling and wonder about things, like most people. I wonder if people love me, if I’m happy – actually happy, if my life will be a success, and more than anything else, I wonder if I’m good enough.

I think these are important thoughts to think. In the nebulous void that my thoughts dance around in I kind of lose track of myself. In fact most of the day I feel like I’m just floating through, like nothing is real.

And then there are these moments, these wonderful moments in which, for those precious seconds, I feel alive. I’m connected again. And all of my weakness fades. And all of my thoughts crystallize. And I’m back.

I like those moments. In fact I love those moments. I’d like to have them more, not less, as seems to be the case with each passing year. But to do that, I guess we have to show ourselves a little more, take those risks that take us out of our routines, even if they are fucking great.

I didn’t start this for any reason, and I don’t have some profound thought to impart to you before we go.

Instead, I just wanted to say that I love you. I want you to be happy, as I also want to be happy. In this scary world we live in sometimes we act just as irrationally as I did when I saw that movie with my dad. Sometimes, we’re just kids in big kid suits. And as one kid in a big kid suit to another, “Let’s run away. Don’t stop running. Take it all off. Shake it out. Bring it in.”

My only faith in myself and everyone else lies in the fact that we have emotions that run deep as mine shafts, broad as the surging sea, and shine like the Hope Diamond. I am not great, but we… well… we are.

Grab someone by the hand and tell them a secret, then tell them you love them, then promise you’ll never let them fall.

Don’t turn away, I’m grabbing yours right now…