more.

more thought put into thought than actually thinking. despite my despise of my internal affection of you. my unsatiable desire of your every touch & sense. finding myself finding songs, poems, books, anything that reminds me of that thing more than a fling but less than three. viewing my introspective writing flowing just a tad bit more stylistic my vocab romancing with the enhancing of my ever baffling love affair. seeing things that were once unviewable, how do you do it? my words are fluid once frozen now coming dime a dozen; i don't recall the fall but woke up with a nasty concussion.

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