If i ever push you away, i don't really mean to. When i tell you i don't want to talk about it i do, i am just looking for the right words. Give me a minute, and if i can tell you; i will. I try to be struggling mix of real and perfect at the same time. At the moment, i am working on the ratio. When i get really quite at sometimes it is because i have too many things to tell you all at once. And i don't know what to say and where to begin first. I get immaturely jealous of anyone who gets to see you on a daily basis. I miss you really easily but i also like that we can be apart and we are both okay. Space is good, too. I love the way we love some of the same things. I love how we love entirely different things. My head is complicated pile of thoughts, and fears, and cravings and dreams, and this tangled up nostalgia for the past and, somehow the future. I am flawed and i am human and i am broken and i am trying. And i am one person and i am two hands.

Via tumblr