I don’t play games. I am so raw and bare.
Any and all actions on my side are because I am so scared.
I am scared to overheat you. I am scared to feel. I am scared that this whole flummoxing thing happening inside me is illegitimate and wrong and sad. And, come on, you don’t want to be heated at all by the likes of me. I keep telling myself that, but this little shit thing I have called hope hangs on by a frail and fragile thread. I should snip it. But what’s the matter with these scissors?
I want you to find value in me, but I am terrified, because I know there is none there. In this world, at least.
But then, what do I have? What can I do?
I can turn the wheel and come back to right here soon.