I like it that you read these. It entertains me slightly. I like that you take the time out of your day to learn about me, to listen to me, even if I’m not directly talking to you or about you. It makes me happy or at least a version of happy.
Actually, I’m not entirely sure that you read these… Do you?
Maybe you just stare at them and wonder how I could possibly write so much about nothing at all. But still, I appreciate it. It’s a sentiment that I don’t really understand, filled with a type of feeling that I don’t really get either. I mean you don’t really know me all that well, right? I don’t know… Maybe you know me better than a lot of people… Or maybe you just want to and that’s why you read all my random blurbs.
I honestly don’t care why you read these. I just like it.
Is it ok to be so oddly happy about something so ridiculous? To be happy because you want to know me?
Did you know it makes me smile? Not the fake smile either. Not the kind I have plastered on my face all day to make people feel good about their lives or the kind you give to strangers, but the kind of smile that conveys real happiness. The kind of smile that you want to stop, but can’t help but give in to. And it’s not a common thing, I swear, but they’re the sort of things you remember. The sort of thing you appreciate.
So I guess I thought you’d like to know that. I’m not really sure of my feelings most of the time and this is no exception. I’m vaguely confused about my feelings right now. You see, I very rarely have them and very rarely pay attention to them when I do soooooo even thinking about thinking about them makes me uncomfortable. I’m sorry you picked someone so odd to find interesting, but I still like that you did.
And I thought you’d like to know.