There are always questions running noisily through my head.
Some of them are the final result of curiosity,
some of them are just mean doubts
that leave me
staring blankly at walls when it's morning
and laying restless in the night.
I am sometimes afraid that no one will look at the world
the way I do.
I am sometimes afraid that no one else lives life
with this constant fear
that oppresses my chest more often than not,
these stutters, these cold hands.
I am sometimes afraid and I am always tired.
I am not that lazy, the world just exhausts me too much.
I am always tired and I have a crippling fear of falling down holes,
so I walk the streets avoiding sewers and watching the floor.
Thinking about Van Gogh always makes me feel sad,
his art always makes me feel home.
I love romance, I hate cheesy.
The number 23 is the magical number, screw the 12.
I hate with a burning passion a lot of different things,
like people watching me eat,
watching me draw,
watching me write,
just plainly watching me.
I love the sound of violins
and the grace in the ballerina's feet.
I love high-waisted skirts and short-haired women.
I sometimes forget to brush my teeth
and I always feel like crying when I'm anywhere near a razor blade.
I'm all about contrasts,
maybe that's why I love dark eyes and pale skin so much,
maybe that's why I laugh while crying,
maybe that's why I fell for you.
Every insecure mess needs something to hold on to.
My mind has a stormy weather and hurricane-like winds,
your words anchor me safely to the ground.
You wrote down a list of things that you loved about us.
I just made a list of things,
the eyes of the mortals are not worthy of knowing.
You are the best yelled-out-secret I have ever kept.
I am sometimes afraid, I am always tired, I love you;
and you certainly make a better home than any Van Gogh's Starry Night has.
Sorry I'm late.
Goodnight, dear. Sleep well.