I'm not the type to be there the next morning. we'll refuse to get attached yet become helplessly addicted. I'll keep you second guessing, but mostly because I'm still unsure myself. I'll make mistakes, even the smallest of ones, but I will still make a lot of them. I'll never accept certain events of my past or understand why I burry that life deep down like some sort of secret, but I just don't like looking back. I'm not the type to tell just someone about that life, but oh my god I can still remember the look on your face. I still look for you everywhere. ask about family and I can never quite find the words. ask about friends and travel back before the silence began to feel like comfort. things can never be just simple, with white lies and thin lines always able to make a picture blurry. I want everything, I want nothing. I want the unattainable, inevitably disappointing myself. I love hard, but leave often. I'm the author of a paradox that constantly leaves me in both awe and despair.