Sometimes I go too far. Sometimes I get a little over enthusiastic.
I want people to open up to me. I want them to spill their deepest darkest secrets.
I want them to rip their bodies open so I can climb in and cuddle their organs and suck their blood.
But maybe not everyone wants to be splayed out before me like an emotional cadaver.
Maybe not everyone wants their head cracked open like a hard-boiled egg and then scrutinized with the boiling energy of a psychopathic serial killer.
Maybe some people keep those feelings and emotions cached away in deep dark dungeons guarded by the hardened trauma of their past for a reason.
Maybe I should respect that reason.
Maybe. But one thing is for sure.
It only makes me all the more obsessed.
Which pretty much means you’re all fucked because, God knows, I’ll get to you eventually.