lindseyregan
I always try to demonstrate when I tell a story. I use hand movements, sound effects, the works. I don't want things to be boring. Sometimes, I think people find me too loud and dramatic.
This is the same word from yesterday. It kind of makes me think nothing will ever change. I'll constantly be in this cycle that I'm in. The one where I only want the unattainable, and those unattainable that want me, I don't want. Even though I know I should. Because they're wonderful and sweet and funny. I should love them. But I only want the people that I know I can't have. So I end up hurt over something I knew would never happen in the first place, and I hurt other people because I'm too busy reaching and trying for that thing that won't work to notice them reaching and trying for me. And it's so screwed up, but I do it anyway, and I don't know why.
My town is a hellhole. But isn't everyone's hometown? I have to go back there this week. I'll spend the week feeling grey, sad, nostalgic. It's the place where I was little, where I was between, and where I was an adult. It's a place of memories and happiness mixed with a little sadness, too. I don't miss it.
Sweat pours off my body. The AC in my car doesn't work, and the open windows aren't cooling much of anything. RHCP blasts Scar Tissue from my speakers, and my hair is so tangled... but I do not care about anything. I just want to drive.
Your body weaves into mine, our fibers touching and then pulling together, creating something entirely different than what we once were. You breathe, and I take it in. How can you smell so good? It's six a.m.. Where is your bad morning breath? You make me feel something that I don't understand. Something miserable and warm.