• I let my heart drain into the wind because I like the feeling. But I've never been kind on the thought of letting it flow into another vein (Don't take that filthily. It's not a metaphor.) I'm just saying, I always kind of make up this person, this imaginary person, to sit with me. To lay down and watch movies with me. To fall asleep next to me. Because it's human nature to want that confidant. And I often feel sad because I don't have any of that. Because I'm missing a few huge aspects of life. But I wouldn't give a thought to actually having a significant other. It's not my thing. I can't do it. I can't handle it. I mean, the person would have to be Perfect. Molded from my own two hands. And not out of teracotta. Out of modeling clay. So that when I get sick of certain things, I can alter it. Because otherwise I'll start to hate the person. Hate comes so easy to me when I like someone. "It's a long way down when all the knots we've tied have come undone" But sometimes I just really long for a hand to hold. And this weather doesn't help. This nice weather gives me too many emotions. Too much nostalgia for things that never were. It makes me long for love. Adventure. Excitement. Freedom. I don't know how to handle it. So, I stick to making up a person. And I don't think another human could replace this figment of my imagination. And that's a problem. Aurevoir

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