Man, I really hate writing about serious stuff. Serious, deep stuff especially. Because a couple days down the road, if I go back and read it, man it seems so ridiculously, juvenile-ly, unoriginally wrong. These great, grand generalisations just seem like painful, adolescent emoting and I can’t stand the sight of them. It’s not just the writing. I rarely have deep, intense conversations with anyone. But I’m starting to see that I’m reluctant to share my philosophies and emotions with people because I have a fear of being vulnerable and in turn being hurt. In the past I’ve had my fair share of being hurt and to keep my heart intact “I gave my heart to no one, not even to an animal. I wrapped it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoided all entanglements; locked it up safe in the casket or coffin of my selfishness… It seems like the only place outside of Heaven safe from the dangers of love is Hell.” Well no more for me. By myself I’ve laughed until I’ve gasped for air, but I want to share the depths of joy with someone. By myself I’ve felt the hollowness of anguish, but I want to know your fears and guide you in the dark. I want to feel deeply. Honestly, I want to get to know you and I want you to know me.
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