Sometimes

Sometimes I just want someone to just tell me they fucked up and that they’re genuinely sorry.

Sometimes, I just want someone to dedicate “The Scientist” to me: “come up to meet you and tell you I’m sorry, you don’t know how lovely you are. I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I set you apart.”

Sometimes I really just want to grab a complete stranger and kiss them for no reason, but run away before they can ever catch me.

Sometimes I really doubt love is actually real or is it a mere fantasy? I think I knew what it was, but now refuse to entertain the idea.

Sometimes, I just want to disappear into the nothingness of early morning’s fog–or dreary summer’s mist.

Sometimes, I want to say too much but I still worry of how my words and ability to be so open about my feelings and emotions must annoy people.

Sometimes, I feel like I can fit, but also be completely out of place at the same time.

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