I. Can’t. Read.
You.
I always feel like I missed something during childhood that would have explained everything, that would give me the power to understand other people. I have no idea what you think of me. I don’t know if you hate me, like me, tolerate me, want my babies- I don’t fucking know. If you’re not wearing a huge sign that explains your feelings, I’m pretty clueless. And I suppose the same thing could be said for me. I’ve been told I’m very hard to read. The uncertainty eats at me, to say the least.
