It has been a while since I wrote something here. And yet I find myself with nothing to write about except the fact that there has been a tremendous inflow and outflow of strong emotions, of weird occurances, of catastrophic and invigorating perils, and of failures and achievements.
For ten months you get to know an imperfect nonconformist disillusioned messed-up guy. I get to know a sad little girl hiding in a carapace of a rigid and intimidating personna she protects herself with. You were alone for a long time, I can't help but feel how secured you are and in the contrary how vulnerable I am for being stucked in place. You exude a lot of inexperience, I stink of a difficult yesterday. Yet, for ten short months in the grand scheme of time, I felt that I've been with you since forever. Like nothing really happened prior to meeting you.
I may not know what lies ahead. Or how to seal the wounds I brought upon you. But all I know, is that when you described me as a canvas of cluster fuck lines and mismatch of colors, I think you are the frame, the strong and bored placeholder that puts everything to perspective as I can attach myself
to you, relax, and enjoy the magnificent feeling of being stared as a masterpiece over this wall of text.
#7332
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