Less... honest. (Patreon)

I’ve been listening to Norman Fucking Rockwell (by Lana Del Rey) obsessively. It’s the only thing I want to hear. It feels like fall, unabashedly vulnerable, dropping it’s leaves without a second thought. I’m trying to let it soak into me so I can shake this fear of being seen. Every time I peel too many layers back for this new person in my heart I feel paralyzed. The pain of leaving myself open haunts me from my last few connections. I hate this raw feeling, wishing you could take back words, wishing you could replay a moment, wishing you’d answered differently, less... honest.

I shake like a leaf but she never seems daunted.