The timing of your honesty has left me a little shaken up. The timing of your realness always starts a fight for us. The reality of the things we want, are sold out like a concert we had tickets to months ago. The pardon of actions never stops them from happening. The realism, that there is actually some soul behind the heart, that your eyes aren’t just full of shit and that your teeth do more then leave marks, has got me touching you a little more often. The sudden realization of all the things I should be saying and are withdrawing at the exact moments I am about to say them, adds a little weight to the situation. The situation we create from nothing. The nothing that has become something. The something that is much more then just something. The audience, that notices. The feelings, that continue to explode. The pretending not to notice, but noticing everything a little too well. The caution that is thrown out whatever imaginary window in whatever real scenario we happen to be in, I love the height of this imaginary building, the view sometimes, like I am only on the elevator, I’m hitting rock bottom all the while settling on the clouds. How I love how this does not define, whomever we are, and the people we think we might be. This just works itself out, we are such addicts, going to the meetings and talking to the help, but we’re better than addicts, this is the vice. We are not addictions. We are vices. We have become the vanilla frosting in the middle of troubled Oreo cookies, and I cannot help but indulge, bag after bag, glass of milk after glass of milk. This happens to be the most refreshing trouble I have ever taken apart of. Intermissions come and go and it all starts off all very similar yet different and lately it’s all a bite of the tongue, sugar rush straight to the bones I’ve bitten off too big of a chunk to chew but I am loving this laffy taffy mixed up equation and Wonka math and system lags in the murky ways of swaying trouble conflicting the conflict of confliction.