![]() When I've been described on other people's pages, I don't recognize myself. As I write, I'm seventy hears old, and all the joy and hurts, small and large, that I've stored up inside me.well, I want to pull 'em out and put 'em on the page. This book is a place for me to pause and look back at who I was and what I became. Moving on is my method of healing my hurt and, man, I've been moving on all my life. If you hurt me, chances are I won't tell you. It's not that they don't want to it's because I keep my feelings to myself. I have pleasant acquaintances with thousands of people the world over. I'm genuinely happy to meet you and exchange a little warmth. I'll be as nice as I can, hoping you'll be nice to me. ![]() Come into my dressing room and I'll shake your hand, pose for a picture, make polite small talk. Maybe that's why I became a loner, someone who loves privacy and doesn't reveal himself too easily. I'd stammer and stumble and choke up until the judge would throw me in jail. ![]() If I were wrongfully accused of a crime, I'd have a tough time explaining my innocence. Some thoughts stay for years some have stayed hidden all my life. Sometimes they stay stuck for seconds or even minutes. My mind fights my mouth, and thoughts get stuck in my throat. ![]() ![]() Never could express myself the way I wanted. ![]()
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