If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

Σάββατο, 4 Απριλίου 2015

Naked.

I am buck naked.

And I don't mind.

Cause I've got tits and an ass and nothing you haven't seen before. No shocker here.

And I'm looking at you. And then, I can't, I turn away, I'm fidgeting with your coat button, I'm staring at my feet.

And although I am standing buck naked in front of you, what really makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, is my head.

What's going on in my head.

All those thoughts running through my head.

I don't know how to voice those thoughts; how to put them in words that are not hurtful or insulting or incoherent or destructive.

Or not just making me sound completely insane.

But somehow, I manage to actually say those thoughts. They somehow manage to come out of my mouth, in soundwaves and words and they're out there.

I had to. For myself, I had to put them out there.

And I'm naked and I don't care, I don't even seem to notice because what really makes me feel exposed and "naked" are my feelings, my thoughts and now they're out there and I have nowhere to hide.

So here I am, under the harsh bright lights of honesty, completely exposed to my truth, without any armor or safety net, in front of you.

And you made me feel secure.

Clothed.

That I was wearing the most gorgeous clothes ever.

And I cannot think of any song that could describe that right now.

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