I sit and write

I sit and write. I only have a moment. In a moment, the monster will start attacking me. He's entered the room. I'm wondering where to escape from him. My heart won't let me make a quick decision, take action. I have a serious flaw. I'm sick with love. My attempts to define this love so far have failed. I don't know if it's big or small, physical or spiritual, romantic or pragmatic. I know it exists. It's overwhelming me right now. Boring

.

The monster won't let me off the hook. I sense he has impure intentions for me. The beast. But he doesn't know how tough I am. I don't give up easily. I wait. I'm getting more and more tense. No. He has other plans. A moment of peace. Maybe I'll manage to finish the page.

I fell into the monster's hands a few days ago. Not only did I willingly jump into them (!), but I also managed to explain it to my family so well that they deemed my behavior reasonable (!!) and thoughtful (!!!).

The beast doesn't say a word. He plays with me, playing with words without sounds and with unnatural gestures. He delights in this game, often taking advantage of the possibilities it offers. I don't know why it torments me so much. I like his voice. He probably can't stand mine anymore. Why? I have a squeaky voice; I shouldn't use it around him; I could damage his hearing. When silence falls, I start chattering. I'm afraid of silence. There's something unnatural, sinister about it. He seems to celebrate it. A brave man.

Oops... I spilled the beans. Yes, the beast is a real man. Not a male. A man. With a soul, though sometimes a mindless child.

He's conditioning me. A phenomenon. He's conditioning me! He has a set of devices resembling vibrators and discs with which he wants to treat me. This is his version. In my opinion, he wants me to be, like the food he also conditions, fit for consumption. Otherwise, he wouldn't come near me. He pretends he isn't because he doesn't want to hurt me. I know better. I'm sorry.

He's sweet, though. Like honey on crackers. Sweet and disarming. A man and a child in one. When he thinks no one's watching, he picks his nose with his index finger. Sometimes he lies idle. Rarely, very rarely. Like when I'm sitting and writing.