You're a little confused lately. You blame things on your zodiac sign. You're still afraid of dogs. You're the last person to hear about anything -- everything. You question your own kissing abilities, because no one has ever tagged you as "bad," and no one has ever tagged you as "good." You aren't making any promises. This has been a long time coming.
You smell like the cold.
When you were younger, you thought everyone thought the same things and that everyone thought them the same way.
And then you got older, the ink on your skin runs deep, and you guffaw at the thought of the world ever coming crashing through your door, even waiting on your porch, but from the look of things, it's already been right through here.
Yeah, then you got older and you realized no one thought the same things, let alone thought them the same way. Wrapping your head around that concept? It wore you out, and you are tired. You're exhausted all the time now.
You meant to take a nap, but instead you went running; it felt good to get your blood flowing. You think about what it would be like if everyone had thought bubbles above their heads like they do in comic books. You think about what it would be like to be illiterate when everyone had thought bubbles above their heads like they do in comic books. You think about illiteracy in general.
You take a lot of pain killers. You know it isn't healthy, but they do their job.
You've got to learn to sing and to go out on the weekends.
Your apathy's going to kill you, you know. You've got to learn to trust people.
Trust me.
"I haven't finished it yet, darling."
All my love,
Addy
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