86. Terminal B

Absolutely
Bored
Considering
Details.
Everything
Fails
Grievously.
Handling
Insipid
Judgement
Kindly.
Loving
Madly.
Negating
Opinionated
Promises.
Questioning
Ravenous
Sincerity.
Touching
Wildly.
Xenophillicly
Yammering
Zealously.

Topics as of late are concentrated solely on love, or the lack there of.
Is it because I want it that way? Am I too picky? Is no one paying attention? Am I that unlovable?
You don't have to tell me.
It's one degree of extreme, or the other.
I'm in my room from 5 pm on,
or out with people until three am.
There's no significant changes occurring inside of me.
I simply float.
I don't feel as hyper talented or likable as everyone seems to think I am.
I don't feel anything but empty.
You must be such a fool to pass me by.