[disclaimer: written under the influence of two ambien at 2:54 a.m.]
I thought I had reached the point where these things didn't happen anymore. No more perceived rejections from the simplest and likely most benign of gestures. No more wounded hearts at cold shoulders turned away to me by virtual strangers. No more self-flagellation and self-pity because I am not more of this or less of that. No regretting the chasm of age that seems to be growing with each moment. But my heart is fragile still and my skin paper thin. And I just want to weep until sweet sleep claims me again.
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