Yon and Blither

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Looking for the person of my dreams has become nearly impossible, as it seems I have nearly ceased having dreams. The dreams I do have are empty and riddled with misappropriated fear of impending violence, and lack depth or colorful emotion. Clue me in, mind. 

People, in general, like me well enough it seems, but I don’t know if I feel how it’s supposed to feel when they do. I feel like a collection of meta-data, robotic in my emotions unless the fuzzy feeling wind of intoxicants blows over my mind, as it is wont to do from time-to-time. The weird-ling man without a plan mopes about like a lost dog. Sniffing out something worth anything to his heart and soul, he usually comes up clutching tufts of his own hair.

I was once asked, exactly at the point the collection of my emotional connection to this person didn’t pan out, the fool’s gold, the fool circle, “Who hurt you?”
Shit. She got me. Snatched my tongue from my mouth and disconnected the delicate tendrils that were beginning to grow between it, and my heart, and her.

Thanks, I guess.

I didn’t have an answer. I had a notion. Was it something to do with childhood and broken beds, broken vows? Was my sensuality torn asunder by others’ demons clawing their way out to their own destruction? Could be. Who knows?