The tenderness of my melancholia, gently brushes my tangled hair as I am staring blankly at my life, which has been inconceivably perfect with its beautiful, beautiful drawbacks. With such peace I could, perhaps, enjoy the little stings of my incomprehensible attraction for the comfort they bring.

I do and do not want all the things I could get my hands on. And I want to be forgiven for all the subtle smiles and the teary-eyed seconds that I could never get enough of.