Sometimes I feel so intense. Sometimes I want to be taken seriously and not just laughed off. Sometimes I wish I could just get over it and smile.
Sometimes I don’t understand why I feel so deeply about things. Why little things mean the world to me and why that seems so silly to other people.
Like how I’ve never felt more alive than when Jessica was playing with my hair the other night. Writing about that makes me feel weak. Or dramatic. But it was just beautiful. I opened my heart to her, which is not easy for me, actually, and in return she sat there and played with my hair. Like an unspoken affirmation that she loved me. That she knew, too. We were on the same page and our heat was electrified by touching.
Sometimes I don’t do anything BUT feel and it hurts.