Working title

This is all so unfamiliar to me. The absence of confusion, the quiet way I feel curious now. I told my mother the other day that I missed being tortured. She laughed and said it was a great line. Only trouble is for me, there's too much truth in that line.

I know that peace doesn't equal death, but I don't really know it. I know that love is kind, but I don't really know it. I know I've been with men who keep me at bay, keep me down, or just keep me, and I know I don't want that again-I know that.

I know I'm supposed to want what my brother says I should want, or what my friends think I should want, but the truth is, I don't know what I want. I do know I'm not going to want anything until I want it, and until I want it, I just want this. The sound of waves, just me, alone and always on the verge of something big.