I want to be mysterious
I want to be the kind of girl
who leaves pieces of herself
with different people, all around the world
so that no one knows her full story
but it is all there
for some potential dedicated soul to discover.

I want to be a puzzle
that everyone thinks they have figured out
and all I do is smirk
because they have no idea
what they're talking about.

I want my life to seem effortless
my world falls gracefully into place around me
to the wonder of everyone else
but all according to my plan.


But that is not me.


I love fiercely, and with reckless abandon.
I tell the world my story in hopes that
someone will care enough about it
to stick around to watch the rest of it to play out.

I care. Deeply. About a lot of things.
So much so that it hurts.

I stop to watch squirrels munch on their dinner
and would much rather talk to a child about nothing at all
than have an adult conversation.

I am not mysterious. I am no puzzle. Nothing about me is effortless.
I am an open book with her heart on her sleeve
yearning and searching for true human connection
somewhere in this vast cold expanse.

But what's so wrong with that?