Hey handsome, sleeping still,
let me tell you who I am:

I write things to people.
I talk about my feelings, because my world is made of feelings,
and this world holds my hand and dictates my direction.

I slip away in the morning without saying "goodbye."
Today, while no one was watching, I did nothing.
I read ***** thoughts of strangers on the walls of bathroom stalls.
I like meeting your eyes across the room.

You don't know who I am--
what drives me, what scares me,
what I want, what I need,

But That's Okay.

I mean, how well can people really understand you
without being in your head and your thoughts?
Nobody really knows anybody.