I often hate my mind because of you. Don’t get it twisted, I don’t really hate my mind. I just hate the fact that I’m always thinking about you. Wondering if you’re ok. Wondering if you’re having a good or bad day. I’m trying to figure out since the day is so beautiful, what might you be doing? Are you working? Or you taking a stroll? I want to know any and everything about you but at the same time I don’t. Then again, maybe deep down inside I do.
See, I hate that I think about you like this knowing you probably could give two shits about who I’m with, where I’m at and what am I even doing. You know sometimes in the morning you are my first thought? At night, well sometimes you are the first, if not the first you are definitely the second or third.
Sheesh, I hate that I think about you like this.
Arnittress Dowdy 