I ran my fingers through her hair and though about all the things I want to say but can't. At the edges I feel like I am frayed, I look at her hands and think she could make it all come together, if only she would braid. Something rips through the very heart of the echo I produce, like evaporating water I feel slightly reduced... To writing in some computerized journal instead of using my head to tell my mouth to tell her the words that want to come out and be made nothing short of forgotten. Twenty minutes later I am accused of being a liar, maybe I try too hard, maybe my hands are not the stable pillars I once thought them to be. "You are not real" she says, she does not mean that I am too good to be true. This gets to me because I know not how it is I am being fake, plastic, or anything but the man I was raised to be. Someone please tell someone else that I did my best because nothing I have said is taken at face value. One day... It'll all work and the gears will not be jammed.