I think I might weep like a child when you finally decide to kiss me. Because that’s what girls love most, a man who can really melt into them, a man who is so certain his life is empty without you, yet doesn’t know who he is when you’re around.  Sometimes I think of myself as a clown, fighting my sadness with aggressive jokes that speak only to the most boorish people in the room, while at the same time alienating the dreary sensitive souls I could maybe benefit from knowing.  Whenever you’re kind enough to sit with me and laugh at my jokes, I’m pained by my attention-seeking volume.  Not to mention my inability to allow you to be you.  I know I want you and I know you’re worth having but I don’t know you, I know only the haze you leave me in from the moment you enter the room until the moment you leave.  Are you real?