If she simply wants to drive me crazy, she's doing an excellent job of it. I'm a coward, I know, and as much as I want this to work, I'm frightened that it will. It's impossible and possible at the same time. Do you understand how terrifying that is? I've wanted nothing but her for two years, and it seems more likely and less every day. I want to share everything with her, and I want to share nothing. Would she still like me if she knew more?
Anyway, wrote "Heath Lange" for my Borders Write Club, and by the end of the session I felt as if I'd made a huge mistake, yet again, another chance and another rejection for what I am and what I could never mean to others. I'd vowed to quit the club, but now I'm having seconds thoughts. Do I write more loosely? Is that a betrayal? These are eternal questions, damning ones, and just more of the things floating through my head.