NOTE: I don't get on here much anymore. And if I am on, it's not to talk to you.
twenty years old. taken, bro. and scared to death that these days just get shorter, and the years creep away. my heart is big and that doesn't always work out for me. i'm honest, and too kind. tell me a story, ill listen, and repeat it back, word for word. spill your guts, and i'll never let those words pass my lips. yet, repeat my thoughts, or lie to me, and you'll wish we had never met. i'm quite a strange one. my hairs always a perfect mess, my ears are at one inch, and my skin is inked, septum pierced. i never match, and that's okay. i paint, i sing outta key and real loud, i make silly videos, i cant dance but i will, i smile a lot, and laugh all too much.
