It wasn't meaningless, but nothing came about. Nothing ever comes about. Nothing, but my insides. My insides and my sighs. Groans. Maybe moans. I could reach in and try to provoke, do provoke, laying on my stomach. It's just me, alone, always. But, I still feel the need. People whisper, telling me to give up on "forever." People yell, telling me to always "last." I don't dig the want of a companion. It's fucking weird. The drive, the recent drive is new. The recent hold back is fucking lame. I want to tell you everything, but I'm afraid of the affect. Of the expression. Of the raised eyebrow. Of the misunderstanding. Of the how could you think that. I'm not in a place of insecurtiy. I'm in a place of doubt, a place of worry. Do you feel this? Do you? Can you feel this? How about this? How about thiiiiiiiiis??? Honey, I wanna know everything about everything. anything about anything. something about something nothing about nothing I'm cold. Cold. Shivering. Yawning. I'm going to die on that plane. But don't worry. I'll give you a comment of me smiling. You know you want it. You know you want it bad. -Amanda