I feel like I'm boring you with my stories.
I feel like I'm boring you with my attempts at making you laugh.
I feel like I'm boring you with what's going on inside my mind.
Instead...
You want to know my bra size.
You want to know my favorite ****** position.
You want to know how far I'd let you go.

And I tell you. I tell you everything.

It's funny how obvious your intentions are, yet, I still have this slither of hope that you will realize my brain is more interesting than my ******.

But, until then, the color of my underwear is black with polka dots.
What about yours?