Can We Talk

As a child I remember holding on to things too long. Letting my emotions run the gamut on my insides, carving out little pieces of my circulatory system; so that every heartbeat was a reminder of the joy/pain/sadness/contentedness I felt on a daily basis. And I thought that when I moved away that I would blossom into something or someone a little less like the dictionary definition of a person and a little more like joan of arc...But leaving the walls behind proved more difficult than I thought, and I never quite managed to move out of the home inside my heart. But I've made it thus far, 30. And you know I've never needed a savior; I just require company. In exchange for unconditional love and the insurmountable ability to understand I would just like to talk...