The age of Aquarius.

Rushing past me all day, frowning upon my lack of a pencil and paper, are whispery tangles of prose, who leave me too quickly, sand through fingers, to be recorded in the first place.

I learned truthful characteristics tonight and it took all of my strength to keep from bursting into tears during class. Am I the saddest? An enabler? Revealing much with mentions of fluid-like passivity and possessive, uncrossable anguish. Unless followed to a “T,” all is lost. And was lost. A princess (a potential Queen) letting down too much hair for a knight (turmoil in disguise) who would be too prideful to climb up, even against his most desperate, personal needs.

It’s a lose/lose situation.

Percentage comes into question only once, and in my sad favor. What more could one do?

Are you listening? Studies reveal you listened all too closely. Worse yet, I tend to flit about, loyal yet ambiguous, never really there. Touch my shoulder to make me smile; I’m yours but I’m everyone’s. I don’t recall and you do. You’ll forever never tell me and I’ll be forever dying to know.  (Someday I’ll be able to stop writing about this.)

What could be in there? A flashing of face, eyelashes, hard work to appear so subtle, beautiful and natural, lips like none other brandishing an endearing smirk, fussy and loveable and jealous.

It’s just as well you never let me in on it. I wouldn’t remember anyway.