Some people

Some people want to be found.
Some people want comfort.
Some people want romance.
Some people want intrigue.
Some people want great sex.
Some people want home.
Some people want to be wanted.
Some people want to be cared about.
Some people want the moments.
Some people want forever.

And then there's love.
If you're like me, you hate that when you see a particular boy the first thing you think about is, "Damn, do I look alright?"
If you're like me, you hate that you blush. Hate it, absolutely hate it.
If you're like me, you hate that as much as you say you despise him . . . any contact from him still gives you butterflies.
If you're like me, you hate that when you're not with him, it feels . . . rough.
If you're like me, you hate that just to be with him, and love him for just a short time, means so much, some days it's all you hang on to.
If you're like me, as hard as you try to keep how you feel from everyone around you . . . they know. But the boy still doesn't. He won't ever believe you, and that hurts more than he'll ever know. And if you're like me, you don't hate him for that . . . because no matter what, you could never hate him.

It's technically Saturday. So here's a lullaby. I work the shit shift at the Marsh tomorrow (closing) and then I'm seeing a late showing of Angels and Demons with the little bro. Not a big Dan Brown fan, but I am a fan of my little brother and he asked me to go so . . . enough said. Enjoy Nina, I always do.