I hate flowers because they end up dying. It's like being burdened with another living object, which you have to take care of but will eventually die. If you think about it flowers are already half-dead anyway. You receive a half-dead object, and put it up for display. Humans are savages. Anyway, I don't really know where I've been but I feel like I've been hiding lately. I haven't had a muse in over a year and I'm forgetting what it's like to be inspired. The only kind of inspiration I'm feeling is one from my anxieties. I look at love and think nothing, I go to bed at night and think of no one. I have grand ideas, but I go about them mindlessly.
They say love comes when you least expect it, and this time it hit me like a cliche. I didn't really know this would happen, but it did. Well, this isn't really love, but you inspired me enough to write about you. I listen to people talk and all I hear is nothingness, sadness and loneliness. But when you started talking, my heart started fluttering, I couldn't stop myself from smiling even though you looked stressed. I don't know if we would work out at all, even if you did like me back. I don't know much of anything, just that your smile melts away my anxiety. Just like the rest of my love stories, this one ends up happily never after, but that's okay for now, at least the thought of you brings me back to a place where I didn't think I belonged to anymore.
Is this too much for people to read? Would they care? I don't know, I don't care. I want you, I think. I want to hold your hand and kiss your cheek.
And see you smile.
[Insert a Shakespeare sonnet here]
some cheesy bitch
I write, you read, we friends.