I read ANOTHER trashy romance.
I need the literary equivalent of a cold shower. I have to stop reading this books that I try and tie my own life into.
Especially with the influx of all this personal history lately.
My brain....hm.
I did a myspace survey last night, and one of the questions was, "Have you ever had butterflies?"
How am I supposed to answer that? Because the answer is damn well YES.
I don't like being feeling appearing seeming vulnerable. So put that in between your ears and unravel it.
I think I wanna redo my colors...I'mma work on that a bit and maybe come back to this.
1 comment:
I know what you mean about tying the books you read into your own life. I kind of hate that because everytime I read a new book, I come to my life with different eyes, and it makes me question everything.
I CRAVE butterflies. That's part of my problem. I want someone to make my heart beat hard, to crack right through my layers and touch the very deepest places of my heart, soul, and mind. Is that so unattainable?
Vulnerability is delicious and completely petrifying at the same time.
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