Thinking

End-all-be-all's, the-ones-that-got-away, and soul-mates; dreams, forever.
I like reading poetry, prose, falling asleep.
I am good at: getting other's nicknames to stick, and opening jars. I am not good at: pretty much everything that does not involve a lid.
I live in what I like to call a constant state of the opposite of paranoia; where I assume that everyone I am surrounded by is attempting to better me.
She said to me, "Here is your purpose", and handed me a key to the room 12, and it was a letdown to say the least.
I am bombarded throughout the day by signs, hints, clues, and beyond coincidences. I left my house today and saw a car windshield that read, "Go forward", written with a finger in dirt, it  was  everything.
I find such a lasting satisfaction in telling people that they will never fix their utmost personal and deep-seeded imperfections.
I killed my venus flytrap the same way that I kill everything, by loving it too much and then half-ass abandoning it.
The most rewarding thing I have done in the last three months is bring the front yard somewhat back to life.
I like songs about friendship, and movies about love.
Dead dog, deer in the headlights, creature of habit.
I find overeager to be an extremely foul word that I hope to never hear again.
Sick stomach, ate too many RAW EMOTIONS.
I dislike very much when people tell me that I am non-confrontational, but I would never correct them in fear of getting into an argument over it.

The last thing I remember saying to you last night before we both fell asleep, you so many hours before I, was that I was mentally a human-centipede and have emotionally been pooping in my own mouth. I laughed, and you didn't really, but you said gross, and I said way too accurate.