You will ask me to dance, and I will accept, only to push you away before the song is over. I will say I love a challenge, only to run when one arises. I use my past as a defense, as if I'm the only one who had it rough, as if that will somehow justify my present. My mind says that success is measured by obstacles overcome, which may be true, but how can I be sure if it was I who crossed the broken bridges?
My heart is filled with a song, a bittersweet song, one of triumph and defeat, one of confidence and cowardice, one of love and of hate. I sing my song without hesitation, but somehow I feel that I've yet to discover the chorus.
How I appear to others is a lie, and I use that lie. I feed off admiration when I have nothing to admire. I want someone to love me with a love so passionate it defies nature, yet I am not capable of returning that love.
I want change, so I run. I do nothing to change my heart, only my location--- my fuel being books, poetry, stories, words...
I am a walking paradox, a contradiction of sorts. And while I usually find this to be one of my favorite characteristics, it will prove to be the death of me. For, who can love someone who cannot make up their mind?
Trinitie