I think there's something off...with me.
I'm reverting back to my childhood these days, refusing to grasp adulthood, whatever that means.
I don't have a filter. No edit point. It is what it is. Zero pretending.
I feel sixteen - caught in a stage of wonder, just waiting for everything to make sense. I don't think it will ever make sense: Life.
I don't mean to flirt with you: man, woman, dog, squirrel, uptight fella who never smiles. I just do. Teasing is fun.
I still believe in that dream, the one I had 8 years ago. That man in black, walking in fields of milky snow. That man who searches for me as much as I search for him...Uh, yeah, I'm here by the way. Hurry up!
Short men frighten me. Angry people turn me off. Yet I seem to attract both, like moths to light. Perhaps if I turn my flirtatious laughter to that of a hellish cry, walking on ten foot stilts, I will attract a worthwhile catch...I'll mull it over.
I think I do have a type. Never thought I did. Hmm...
I never make a promise I won't keep. I take secrets to the grave. I want you to be happy and I'll always have your back. I think you outta know this.
I want to try a smoke, just once, but I'm afraid I'll like it too much. But I'm also allergic.
I don't know if I have an addictive personality. It's possible. I'm stubborn as hell and won't believe anything you tell me. I drink coffee three times a day...Am I addicted to caffeine?
I sometimes fear that man in black is dead, or just tired of looking for me. Like me, tired of the journey.
I want to be gotten.
