I kept all the butterflies in my stomach in a jar hidden somewhere in my closet. I would need them at nights when I'm tangled up in your sheets and I need to feel something.

I wish I were the kind of person that people would remember after meeting for the first time. But no, I am often easily dismissed. If people were places I am a sidewalk you'll never pass by; the alleys are too dark, the steps are too narrow, and it is not worth your time.

I’m a mess of contradictions and you’re the unlucky one who is caught up in the crossfire.

Dear Stranger, I’m going to tell you now that if you are here to stay, I will ask for too much.

You are the words I can't seem to write and stash away in those paper napkins when I take afternoons off coffee houses, the butterflies I've caged in my stomach, so I won't have to feel them after all those somersaults.

I hold too many secrets to spill them all to you after a handful of conversations.