Patience. Twenty-five years of patience. Well, really, the first five years don't count, and then you start school, and then the bigger kids inform you that there's an order to be followed and then either begins the chase or the patience. So...technically twenty years of patience.

Now it might be a little sentimental...

Ah, to be five again and not know there's an order to boys and girls. To be ignorant of the difference. To play, to fight, to coexsist with the opposite sex without any clue as to what lies in wait just around the corner.

She has her griefs and cares...

Good night though, it's fun. The good kind of twinge? It's fun. It's odd how much fun masochism is. I get the kick in the shins around someone. I play with someone, attempt to get to know them. I do everything I can to get them to dig deeper and give me the goods (in this instance "the goods" being their reality, life as they see it) and try to wrap my head around what they give...all without giving away my hand. I pine. I try not to, but I do.

But a soft word when spoken so gentle...

Twenty years of patience. I've gone through the process with seven men (some were boys at the time, but with the boys came the fact that I was a girl at the time...as opposed to a young lady or a young woman or whathaveyou). I've failed seven times. I've initiated every step with every one of them.

Makes them easier to bare...

I'm tired of waiting around for the next one to make a move, but I don't want to. I don't come out through these things very well when I'm doing the chasing. I come out invested and usually quite dissapointed when the chase never begins for me.

That said, the dancing tonight was par for the course.