Oh my Atticus Finch. That little title phrase makes me cringe, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I dont know if it’s because I just want to be wanted or because you’re just so perfect and dreamy that keeps me making grabby hands like I’m a four year old begging for a parent’s attention. And it’s not that I want you, per se— what with your dirty blonde scene kid hair; for lack of a better word, kind blue eyes and rather thin features, it’s just that the fact of someone, anyone having an intrest in me- someone so hopelessly insecure makes me fuzzy on the inside.
I resemble the skin of a ripe peach on my insides, it coats my organs, my veins with pure euphoria at the thought of being wanted by someone- anyone.
It’s enough to make my mind try to churn my stomach- to tell me that you’re not supposed to feel so good about the thought of having a purpose to be there for someone else- that’s not what being sixteen and independent (as much as you can be living at home) is about. You are for yourself, apparently I simply wasn’t wired that way.
Your voice makes my heart beat erratically, it’s so hopelessly smooth and deep- manly enough to make me feel that you could protect me from the world- shield me from tsunamis and keep me from even trembling during an earthquake. I talk to you and I’m at a loss at what to say, I just want you to talk to me forever but I know you won’t- you’re too shy to do that.
But you’re not to shy to say those three little words, but not to my face nooooo. You use a stick figure— makes me wonder if you even know the gravity of what that phrase means.
But we all find out in time.
25th September, Sunday (11:28pm) Reblog ↬
