And know that it's me. Why have I only met you now? Why am I so unwilling to give myself to you? Why am I so young and stupid and hormonal and horrible? Wouldn't being hormonal make me want to be with you? So why do I not? It's not that I don't want to. I feel like I'll hurt you. I feel like I'll hurt you. I'll hurt you. You're so perfect. You know. (and yes I know, you're not perfect, but) You're perfect. Ugh. I'm so dumb. But I don't want to scar the unfathomable perfection. I can't do it. But I would. How adolescent. Why am I writing this on here. I've usually been careful not to tell too much about myself. I wished you would know it was me. Why did Rumplestiltskin play his game? Did he wish his name would be guessed? Was he tired of hiding? I want someone to know my secrets. Even if I can't tell them. Because being alone is so hard. And I've tried so very hard to keep myself that way. At least that's what it looks like to me. Life is so complicated...
~another musing of the ill-informed~
I love that I can look at this and see parts of who you are. I don't get to do that I whole lot. Mainly because I rarely see you (excluding this week). But I want to change that. If you do that is. And I'm not perfect. I'm crazy. "I'm a jumble of passions, misgivings, and wants." And half of the time I can't even figure out what I want. I'm damaged.
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