I despise how easily I open up to the people I like even if I know that they won’t do the same. I welcome them to my closet full of my stupid insecurities, sad family stories, and failed romances. And when things inevitably goes up in flames, they can still read me like a book and I absolutely hate that. They have an idea of what I’m thinking, how I feel or what I’ll do. I hate it that they can do that while they maintain to be in their stupid fortress that I was never able to enter.
It’s weird to go walking on earth, knowing that some stranger knows the person that you really are.