I can’t write down a list of the names (or I should say “the ghosts”) that have told me something and made my face turn red.
I’m being explicit with their word use. That’s how that magic works. It’s rarely physical. Words can connect us in ways that skin cannot.
Some people invest months telling me every day that I’m handsome. They say I’m sweet and funny. Sometimes, when I’m sleepy or drunk and I talk without having any consideration on consequences, I can be kind of sexy.
Then again I’m going to emphasize that is only the result of combining certain words that somehow make sense.
I’ve been told that I’m kissable, that I’m huggable. I’ve received some invitations to “sleep under a star blanket,” just because “it’ll be cute to live that scenario with me.”
Nobody thinks I’m good enough.
Others have pointed out how lucky will be the person I’ll marry someday. But nobody actually wants to do it.
Nobody thinks I’m good enough. Everybody is pissed at how long I hold a person I have feelings for during a hug. The pitch of my voice is insufferable whenever I say I’m glad, happy or satisfied with the company of certain person. I’m just too intense for expressing my thoughts and feelings.
And I’m so used to people who vanish, that I’ve learnt to excuse them.
I have this hypothesis where I think I’m a non-solved mystery in the universe. As a result of that uncommon category, people will comment on it and spread the word, after all, they all sound and look interesting.But truth is, a quick research washes out every attempt on understanding such an unnecessary answer you could live your life without.
And that’s exactly what I am.