i'm not anything unique, and i don't strive to be, chances are you'll forget my name within two weeks of knowing me. i fall in love too quickly and it is never innocuous or steady, my tongue can beat harder than my heart sometimes. i can be whimsical, lonely and fervour saturated all at once, and i can't strum most of the chords in hotel california. my writing is my outpour and i've read more than i can swallow, i hate crowds and frequently feel confined and sick to my stomach. my voice shakes whenever i meet someone new that i want to impress; and so do my fingers and legs and my thoughts abandon any concentrated form of wit and cascade out of my mouth without my awareness. it takes me a while to be authentic with others because i'm too frightened of being condemned. cause and effect is my only forfeit, i don't want to leave behind a legacy, i'm content with drifting alongside the wind despite wherever it might take me, call that futile but realising that i can be known as quickly as i can be forgotten comforts me. i've made many wrong choices, i didn't appreciate enough, i've lied--but this is who i am, and i am far from elation, if you stripped me down you'd find the bullet holes that you might've left behind, ones that i act like they don't affect me, and the stars i've accumulated in my palms. i remember every face i've ever kissed, i'm apprehensive about confessing my feelings due to the notion of rejection and you probably mean more to me than i've ever mentioned. there.