and The Mouth Lies About Us.

Dear Allison Ann,
So we are faced with the question, always the question;
What are you feeling?
We can't answer it.

In what part of any book are we told how to do any of this?
Books are made truer than reality, so why can they not show us?
Am I only ever going to have questions that can not be answered?
Because, I was given this need to understand things . ..
and I must be able to use it somehow.
If I can't fulfill that need, what will become of me?
Will I slip even farther into the place where I can't understand emotions?

Will I be just some person that you name a city after?
Will they just make a statue of us, or write my name in a book?
Will my words ever be really heard, or will they be inked into life?
My feelings. . . can they really be more me, than .. .  me?
Are they as immortal as I think?
Maybe they will make me immortal, more than a statue could.
A statue would crumble, but could my, my . . . self outlive it?
My words. .  . they'll outlive me right?

Stormed in my own confusion, I take refuge in what I know, of course.
Of course its you.
Anything that could distract me, I am distracted from by you.
But also, you bring about these same questions because ..  .
I wasn't sure i was capable of this.
It's almost like, I was in a coma, where I was dreaming
and my life went by, and I wasn't even sure where I'd been
because I dived into words, and I slept there
but then you woke me up, after so long
so long of words being my best friends,
and them dancing for me,and performing for me
and it was almost like a smack in the face
but i loved it, because there I was
sitting straight up, out of a coma
and there was you .. .
and these emotions arose, and i have to ask these questions

So we are faced with the question, always the question;
What are you feeling?
We can't answer it.

It will never make sense, because I can see it all coming to me
and then it will surprise me when it gets here
surprise me when it leaves,
live in me while I'm here, while it's here and then poof
or it may never leave. I hope it doesn't.
It keeps me busy.

you told me something, that I thought was truer than any truth
"I'm thinking love never really begins or ends, it just becomes apparent."
And that proves my point i think.
Love, I think, like our love, is always there, is older than us,
but is intended for us, and we are just born into it.
It shows us how perfect we are. Our love was meant to exist.

Is everything else, so . . .solid?

Is it concrete? So complete?
Are all of my questions really answered, by blind belief that . . .
blind belief that they just ARE?
I know there is some secret to it. There is something
I have to understand these things. . .
and I will.
thank you for helping me understand,
Love, Kota-Clay