I think that.. there are just certain people that are so comfortable and scary to be around. Comfortable arms. Comfortable words. That because you’re afraid they make you feel safe in your own head, in a strange bed.
I spend a lot of time second-guessing myself, and I guess.. I guess I even read poetry. I guess I played guitar and I know I sang and I know that somewhere over a rainbow there was a lot of good from everything.
I think I missed being me. I think I know that I’m crazy and I can keep it under wraps. I think I know I fucked up. I think, and I know, that I am probably better off. I think it’s weird. I think that .. fuck. I don’t know how to think right now. My head is still lost in half-sleep/space/time and full of arms.