What do you do with your hands? I don't what you do with your hands. Most likely they hang, as dumbfounded as you. Every move betrays you, communicates the discomfort, the shame, the need to be elsewhere. You think of far away places, dark places, underneath covers and behind closed doors. Any place else than where you are at right now. To be rid of the shame.
This is pretty much what writing in this blog feels like right now.
I've tried to avoid you, but I can't. It was bound to happen that I would step right into the universe's trap of facing this fear, of facing you.
You're a clever one, blog. Always the clever one.
Let's hope this is enough to break the ice, so we won't have to speak of this moment ever again.
At least until the next time I avoid you.
Sooo how about them clouds?