I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air. I considered the streets beyond, bleak as the bleached bones of wilderness scaffolding my heart. Just a stone's throw away.
I watch the sky a lot, hoping for a hint of change.
There's really no one else out there like me. I am an acquired taste. I don’t see things the way everyone else does and I do everything just a bit different then the way its supposed to be done. I'm on my own wave length. All ive got is myself. Get at me, if you think you can handle me.
My Interests
I'd like to meet:
The boy who will be up at two am with me, Indian style in bed, dipping crackers in a jar of peanut butter while letting me read to him.
