every single time I feel like we have something in common you ruin it with an offhanded remark about last holiday, where you drank an oceans worth, and bedded half the women in town.

its an obsession i never understood, perhaps i was damaged from the start, but everywhere i look i see this lust for lust, and it feels like nothing is sacred.

am i ****** for wanting a single soul to share the rest of existance with?

what an absurd idea.

the mere thought that because my chest seizes up everytime you tell your rose red tales, i would forbid you from living your life the way you chose.

i would change if i could.
i would grind down my sharp edges so that i could fit into the puzzle that is this world.
i have tried.
i swear, i've tried.