Fame kills life.
In Charlotte I’m famous. It’s not something I wanted. It’s now a ghost which haunts me. It’s destroyed lovers. I thought that by being myself, a traveler, a writer, that the men in my life would read and understand me.
But my own life, as odd as it seems, has gotten precariously in the way of my living.
I never pretend to be anything except what I am. I’m humbled by the beauty of life, but the beauty of men.
My only true crime is my own folly.
Imed took me to Lake Norman outside of Charlotte this morning. He told me to stop putting my life on my blog. I told him that that’s all my blog is about.
Stop putting yourself out there. Shut up he said.
But I can’t.
If im anyone at all, I’m only someone on my blog.
Take me or leave me.