Maybe...

I lay down in a bed that was temporary, pondering my forever—of course.

What scares me most about myself is my heart. Branded on my sleeve, I love so hard, not many things I promise but they say… “Quality of quantity”—I believe in it.

I call it passion…

When you find yourself so deep in something it becomes a drug—the addicting king…

You desire more knowledge of it.

Sulking in the pleasure of simply knowing what makes this thing so much better than everything else…

Surpassingly my passion is life?

What about it makes it so… worth it, you know?

What makes people think this way, do this and that, say this and that…

I study from a far…

I’m only social when it matters—I call it societies favor…

It’s simply the passion, maybe not but I’ll call it that…

It’s scary how deep the mind goes, how much can you actually know before it’s enough?

You’ve devoted your attention—

It’s become more important than anything outside of it. You’ve gotten lost in the fact that there is more than more dimensions to it and you must know every single one of them to prosper.

So satisfying knowing why you like something, beyond the social norm—because everybody else likes it…

I’m intrigued by those who believe in their own world, only tolerating the fact that this one is the inevitable… they usually have a harder time fitting in, rather standing out…outside of the circle for those who share more in common…

Secret ahman…