Sunday, February 12, 2oo6
I'm not a talker.
I wish I could talk to you though.
Without feeling stupid.
To have a reason why you make me feel.
Because you do make me mad.
And you do make me cry.
But most of all you make me happy.
Laugh.
Smile.
And that means more to me than any of the cons.
No matter how much they out-number the pros.
I don't like being mad at you.
Even though you like to think that.
It doesn't make me feel any better.
You make me feel better.
Just you.
