I live with the butterflies these days. Fluttering into every arena that seems flattering. They come and go, just as these convenient moods. How do I pick? Do I want to pick? Will I only pick once I find something worth picking?
These butterflies. They fly. They fly all around my stomach. Someday, the anticipation will strangle me. It's a very weird kind of anticipation, really. The kind where I know something "blow-me-out-of-my-mind" is coming up, but it makes me low to know that it isn't here yet.
The eternal find, I say. How do you know what to pick when it's a find, alright, but a find that is not defined?
And what's the deal with judgements? They just never leave your back, do they?
You judge yourself a lot more than you think you do. And then the decisions either fall short or just don't match up.
It's a web of complications.
Sometimes they exhilarate you, sometimes they make you restless.
I like them. I like them very much.
Just.. walk faster, will you? Or catch the bus. I'll pay for the fare?