SweepySleepyDreepy
Always. I watch you, Hikaru, and well, they watch me. I've always felt like I've had an audience following me like paparazzi flashing photos for daily magazines. The fans love me. But it's not the same. My mind; it's a diverse one. Almost shallow. I think back to that night. (The luckiest night of my life.) It has me wondering that you're actually really shy, but you choose to hide it. You think being boisterous and busy fixes things. I know that you hate being the center of attention, but you crave relevancy. You dwell in the past. We have that in common. At once, you've hated me, so why make it so easy for me to touch? It's not like we really know each other. You practically invited me into your arms with ease as if you actually did belong there, and if, it wasn't for my misplaced sense of self-righteousness; I should be the one to remind you that you don't. You fear women, but you're also a textbook mother's boy. The down to earth type is you, and if it weren't for your family's obsessive customary beliefs in how your perfect world should be, I'd be willing to bet you wouldn't be looking away from me yet again for the second time in less than five minutes.