I wonder at times how I in my ways invite people to hurt me. Perhaps my unqualified open being is a statement of martyr-like qualities that I do not wish to acknowledge.
Or I could be a victim of a childlike faith in the goodness of humanity?
What if there is a hidden purpose (naturally, for the good all − like in some movie) and I am a carrier of some great disease meant to infect (at least affect) the hearts of all people?
Could it be that what I have assumed to be hurt is merely the feeling of strength received when one gains knowledge about one’s self?
Perhaps it's simple insanity. Some would say it is ultimate, arrogance on display.
It's thoughts on paper written down − my thoughts, my truth − then and now.
32 years later, I still wonder why I open myself up like this.