I'm wanting to let you know that every time you set pen to paper, you're stealing my blood and I'm trying let you know that you've already stolen my heart. I'm tired of this hesitation, this predestination-- honestly, I'm tired of you without me. It's sickening to know that every moment I've compiled in my brain could very well be the last. This could be the last time we breathe, so let's breathe together.
I have this affinity for the air in my lungs that is almost inexplicable, except I know exactly why it's this way. I'm borne of the wind, God's tiny breath the sudden drumbeat of my pulse. China doll clock eyes ticking explicitly like I'm supposed to understand each dirty little secret. Heaven forbid I love. Heaven forbid, please.
Today I'm touching down to briefly explain my differences. Subtlety is security in my space, my cosmos of dysfunction and disorderly conduct. I know you wonder why I'm miles ahead/behind in certain aspects, and I'm here to let you know: my drum is broken. Fix it-- please!
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