Miracles.

This may end up in a play I'm writing.

      "I don't get to be myself very often. Some people by nature are celebrated for being themselves. Others are ostracized and crucified for it. Being myself has gotten me into trouble and forsaken. As a general rule, people tend not to be interested in what I find interesting. So I usually sit back, jump into my head and I wonder. Why am I so different? What am I doing wrong? Will this ever change? Will I ever be valued for my personality rather than my work ethic?
    Then there is you. Who I am most guarded around, who I'm most sensitive to. Men who decry their deepest vulnerability,  that they like you, are rejected for it. I am like them. I would lie on top of you all night listening to the working of mind will soothing to the rhythm of your heart beat.
     Part of me believes there is a chance you not only would accept me for all my aloof eccentricities, but would cherish me for them.  There is a hint of a feeling that might be the case. But the part of me that believes that is the same part of me that believes in destiny and God. And when I take a step back and look at the suffering of the world, I want to chastise myself for ever putting stock in that absurdity. Cause you and me would be a miracle. And I don't believe in miracles."

Today's Song: Dire Straits
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XVVZPefbR4&feature=related