This feels like torture, maybe that’s a bit over dramatic, but I’ve always been a glutton for punishment… I hate your smile because you’re not smiling at me, but in that picture you are. And I really don’t hate your smile at all. Like a drug addicts heroin, you get under my skin and you make me feel so damn good. Difference is you’re actually good for me (I think, but that’s what they all say), skin smell. I… calm your mind, I… pathetically miss you. I can’t eat. Sleep seems like a distant thought that I left on the side of the road somewhere between I-95 & I-80. Wine is the nightcap that lulls me into a dull sleep that is interupted by cleanched jaw and night sweats. Compounded and compounded… I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.

I’m looking for a voice in the white noise, I’m trying to make a choice with the right boy, to lay me down into bed, leash the hounds in my head, Somebody to finally see me through with, somebody to remind me that I’m the quantum human…

the thing is… I’m jaded, a little broken, I don’t have rose coloured glasses, and I dislike most. But I don’t dislike you. That is quite an accomplishment. Wasn’t sure it was possible. Sure, you piss me off, and you make me really mad, and you push my buttons like a 2 year old on a see-and-say, but only because I like you so much, I dare say love? Yup, I guess that’s my wine induced honesty.