Scatter.

If you must know, you have me struggling to form coherent paragraphs. One-liners and pictures I can't seem to translate into words enchant my mind whenever you choose to grace it. Out of sight, out of mind? Not even a little bit. The drafts are piling up and you have my wordy ways clamoring for a thread to piece them together. Would it be so wrong to say that I'll take what I can get? This isn't a marathon, and my pace is as faulty as my thought process. One I can't write without selling myself out, none too honest. This admiration is childish at best when nature comes into play, but stripped down to nothing, it's a curiosity, and I'm insatiable.

You spend your time thinking and I spend mine attempting to. The most typical way to say it; you keep me guessing. My brain could begin to wrap around a fingertip, one piece of your mystery, and your words send it scattering, unsure. I'm just as susceptible to a challenge as I am to issuing them. My first guess is fear. My second is sensibility. My third is that I may not ever figure it out. If this was your goal, mission accomplished. Mundane conversation is a duty I've forgotten about, because it's something you avoid at all costs. I don't pretend to understand because finding you out is one confrontation I'm hardly used to. I'm in no hurry to be the stars when the sun keeps me singular.

Case in point, having you around is as valuable as the conversational skills everyone takes for granted. A part of me wants to see you without the clouds in your eyes; you're protective, and I'm resilient. I'm not a number of years, just a soul. Time is of little importance when you look at the way singular moments seem to drag on with the duration of countless wasted days. Moments create definition; it's the time in between that you should call the enemy.

This mix could burn a hole in anyone.