Hmmm...

I've made a scrapbook in my mind for a person I've never even met. I guess you could say that I know who you are. You a vague mix of light and dark in my mind, at least your face anyway. Just like everyone else who is familar to me. I'm sorry, I know I'm asking too much from you.
I realized that I'm looking for something protective. Something that eeriely resembles the persona I choose to exhibit. I want it to talk to me. Call me to bed. Tell me I'm handsome...and strong...and smart. I need my ego stroked I guess. One could say that's a major shortcoming on my part and...I wouldn't argue with them. But I wouldn't argue with them. I'm as poumpous as the people I fail to identify with. I'm of greater clarity that the people who you don't understand me. I'm sick of attitude. It's something that really doesn't get anything done. Pride only fucks with ya, it never helps. I need to write more and I need to be more fluid with my train of thought.
I hope Holly is ok. I need a fucking hug.