again!?

Dear Aston,
I barely know you. I've only just met you. You hardly know me. You're a Gemini-- by all my usual rules, I should have stopped talking to you the moment I found that out.
Maybe it's your glasses. Maybe it's the dorky way you look down when you laugh. Maybe it's the scar on your lip. Maybe it's the look in your eyes, like I don't have to say anything because you know already. Maybe it's how you're surprised by everything that comes out of my mouth.
Or maybe I've reached a whole new level of screwed up, maybe I just feel the need to fuck everyone I come into contact with. Maybe this feeling in my chest when we hang out is just a way for my subconscious to justify it to myself. Maybe I'm so fucking desperate for something to fill the void that I latch on to everyone I see... I know that's not true, but how is it that I can shelve my feelings for Jack and find the beginnings of ones for you so quickly?
That's ridiculous and I know it. I still have feelings for Jack, confused as they may be. And I've never been limited in love, the number of people and the timing is irrelevant to me. I beg for other people to understand, but I can hardly comprehend it myself. My own nature is elusive to me; how am I expected to go through the world pretending like I know what I'm doing when I can barely make sense of my own self? It's hardly fair. I sound so boy-crazy, like a middle school girl changing crushes every week and expecting everyone to take each one seriously... it's a small comfort to know that this blog is the only place I speak on any of this.
I can't help but be comfortable with you. I want to know what it would be like to spend the night next to you, sex optional. Fuck that, I don't even care about sex. Would you be nervous if I kissed you? Would you tremble if I grabbed your hand? I'd ask if you could ever work up the guts to brush my hair out of my eyes, but I don't even know if you'd care to... maybe I should start doing my bangs so they're in my face and find out (hard work for a girl with a mohawk, they rarely get that far).
So there's that. I'm going to play this one cool (like I always do, right?) and just assume that you'll never give me two looks in that direction when it comes to these butterfly feelings. If I'm wrong, I'll be very pleasantly shocked. And if I'm right... well, then I'll be right, the same way I always am about these sorts of things. I'm jaded and cynical and apparently cursed when it comes to matters of love (not that this is love, but you get the idea). Besides, these feelings are just because I've subconsciously found some trait about you that drives me crazy and I haven't put my finger on it yet-- as soon as I've figured it out I'll calm down a bit. It's probably the lip thing. As soon as I get to the bottom of it, I'll be fine. Just give it some time.
Oh, and next time we spend all night sitting on a statue talking, let's make sure we don't get interrupted by a drunk man who insists on telling us his life story, okay? Not an ideal way to end the evening.
Nervously Yours,
Arden