Head Over Feet

I'm happy. For the first time in ages, I'm really really, simply happy. No alcohol, no pills, no artificial declaration of friendships or even randomly gotten cash. No, suprisingly a girl, a very very very last girl I would ever imagined I would had the chance to know, let alone like.

Still, I'm blissfully annoyingly holding on to a slim hope that well, she might be feeling the same way as well. I'm not a man of many words, as my friends said. I hate talking, I hate talking much. It's a very strange feeling to talk to her, trying to convince her I'm the person she wants, when she's the one who is suppose to convince me she's not going to leave me for my idiotness, a trait I'm bound to expose sooner or later, in one way or another.

She fails to see behind this mask of smiles, I'm just a turtle without it's shell, scared silly and a tad bit confused as to why he's without a shell (because I was using it a a metaphor and it was probably made into a movie). I apologise dear, for dragging this too fast, for running the risk of pushing further instead of dragging you closer.

For you see, I'm a guy with a non-existent confidence when it comes to love. It might sounds selfish, but knowing you like me and knowing you "belong" to me is a very different thing to me, and that was why I simply don't know if I could handle the rules of you game.

So apologies to you, my dear as I crawl back into my shell, peeking from afar hoping that one day, you'll pick me out from it. But until then, the mask stays on, as I can only imagine, so does the game.

"You’ve already won me over in spite of me
Don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn’t help it
It’s all your fault"

-Alanis Morissette, Head Over Feet.

Sounds fittingly here, doesn't it?