I have this thing where
I love meeting new people but
I hate getting to know them.
I love the thought of thinking who they could be and listening to their stories
as I harbor the ones that mean the most to me close to my chest.
I would give a stranger the world as long as
I could keep my own stories
I once read somewhere that we only really have four friends & the rest are acquaintances
I have so many acquaintances who I’ve left tiny nonessential pieces of myself with as if the encounter was a party.
Some people somehow piece together various combinations of twenty six letters to break down
the fortress I guard with my heart beyond nonessentials like:
My favorite food: tacos, my favorite color: purple, and book: Chloe King
It’s always at the perfect time too
As if my need to get to know no one entraps me in a tower
needing to be saved from myself
I’m an optimist who feeds off of conversation but craves deep conversations like:
The thing I most regret: Lingering on the past, The thing I fear most: not living up to my high standards & my thoughts on love: caring more for someone else’s well-being than your own (see Insanity)
Some of these lucky people who get invited in, they stay and others are not so welcomed as they’ve worn out their welcome
or accidentally wandered beyond What does your mother do and why were you so late with driving?
You would think my history with people would make me a pessimist as I’ve had best friends turn into strangers & strangers become best friends.
But every experience has woven me into the perfect blend of soft, rough, sass and curiosity.
I am an adventure worth trekking on and a reward in its own right
I have this thing where I love meeting new people but hate getting to know them
I love the thought of telling them my favorite stories but scare at the thought of giving more pieces of me than they deserve.