Type.

I swore that I didn't have a type.
Then he came, slow like a whisper.
The next boy with a pair of skinny arms -
with those visible veins.
His lanky physical - and those thick black nerdy frames.

My wall crumbled.

I swore I didn't have a type.
But then he came (exclamation marks).
The next one with no reaction on his face; another emotionally hidden character.
The surface is cold,
one needs to dig deeper to find a soul.

I'm falling.

I swore I didn't have one, but I think I do - because I'm falling for it yet again.

it has been a while.

now it is proven. i only write when i'm unsure of things - of feelings. with everything beautifully placed on the plate, i assumed i'd feel good. i am happy. but?

i no longer plan for big events to be excited for - a good breakfast makes me happy; a good conversation makes me happy; a good laugh; and, an over-friendly stranger can make my day. so ... am i missing the anything? am i settling? do i want more? how? and why? do i need more?

damnit! now i'm a little sad.