I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am ready
I am ready
I am
Taffy stuck, tongue tied
Stuttered shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am ready
I am ready
I am…fine
I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding
I am
colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am ready
I am ready
I am…fine
I am…. fine
I am fine

For so long I’ve had this idea that if I could just touch you, all would be better in this heart of mine. The thought of being near you has been my saving grace. Maybe it’s the changing of seasons, but recently I’ve become much more sober in my thoughts of you; my dreams of you. Though I still want you I don’t feel as though I need you. Who am I? Who are you? Who are we? I’m beginning to be ok with not knowing the answers to those questions. I’m beginng to be free; beginning to be me.

It’s true, it’s true. Who I am has always been wrapped up in you. I am homesick for you; lovesick for you.

But she still had that something which fires the imagination, could still stop one’s breath for a moment by a look or gesture that somehow revealed the meaning in common things. She had only to stand in the orchard, to put her hand on a little crab tree and look up at the apples, to make you feel the goodness of planting and tending and harvesting at last. All the strong things of her heart came out in her body, that had been so tireless in serving generous emotions. It was no wonder that her sons stood tall and straight. She was a rich mine of life, like the founders of early races.
— Willa Cather, My Antonia