Colder Than December

One of these days, I’m going to be the happiest girl alive and it is because I can think like a man. I can dissect people piece by piece and make it intriguing the whole way through. I can avoid emotional bullshit, like the concept of commitment and the nagging which comes with it, one text at a time. I can put aside my expectations, and even if I’m into you, you probably won’t know it because I have an unexplainable craving for space. I can avoid you time after time and still manage to be crazy about you. I can appear to be colder than December, but my blood will rush with heat at each and every thought of you, and you’ll know so just with a glimpse of me – but I haven’t always been this way, and much of my time is spent learning to preserve this skill.

Most of my skills are newly acquired. I used to be inexplicably reserved, and much of the time, I still am - with newly found freedom. Seventy percent of my daily existence is spent in a towel with a polka-dot mug. On the rare occasion that I’m not in a towel, I cook breakfast in panties and spend the daylight hours in satin bath robes. Clothes aren’t my thing these days and I’ve earned every bit of it; la dolce vita.

One of these days, I am going to fall for a lucky son of a bitch –  mark my words. But before that day comes, I want to be prone to chaos. I want to watch you crumble into nothingness. We can fall in love and project our denial. I’ll be your drug and you’ll be mine, and if the moment should come when we’re in too deep, we’ll vanish off the face of the earth and never speak again. Simple. As. That.