Here

It's starting to feel more like home.

"There are years that ask questions and years that answer."

This isn't the first time around, and it's ungodly unnerving. I couldn't begin to list all the reasons why, but I feel it. Maybe I'm wrong, but I feel right.
"Fucking makeup."
It's easy for me to become broken, perhaps just cracked, really, and it's even easier for me to resist you afterwards. And maybe I only resist you for a few hours, few days. I wish I wasn't that way, but I am.
But how are you?
Extreme with your temper, and extreme with your want to make it better. At first, I find it laudable that you feel so guilty, and then you squash it, so I assume that perhaps it was never real?
Maybe I just lack dignity. Where have I been when things fall apart? That's right. I just back away, walk away, drive away.
Oh, well.
I know he doesn't appreciate my abstract way of expressing myself, but I understand. He just doesn't understand, and I also understand it's just because he's been so detailed in expressing himself.
Maybe I don't understand.
I'm never really going to assume I'm completely sure of anything, mostly. It usually makes for what you weren't expecting in the first place.


But my nighttime feelings usually change with my morning ones.