You breathe in such a graceful way.

You remind me of home - wherever it is.

But oh well, my emotional disengagement is a biological condition.

I change the right words for elaborate speeches that make -absolutely- no sense.

And then you're mad at me. And it bugs me a little.

Your heart is the size of your entire body while

I seem to experience shreds of emotions through the liver - 'cause, since I don't really drink, he has some free attention to give.

No heart to be found.

No idea why.

The other does the best he can, but it's not enough. It's not enough for you, or me. But again you judge it with your heart, so I guess it does you more harm than my rational speculations do to me.

Don't tell me it's a defense mecanism, and if it is, don't spit on it with your impressionable sensibility. I used to be just as impressionable or more once upon a time, but if I lost it there must have been a reason. And if I regain it, please, may it be for a good one too.

Not caring that much is so peaceful it seems to scary the life out of me.