I am. Everything.

I get so nervous when I talk to people. Social anxiety. I shake when I get really happy. My hands turn to ice. I am frozen in fear and desire. I want people so much that sometimes it knocks the air out of me. My ribcage and heart are sent careening into the air full of butterflies. I hate and love that. When I am alone my blood slows, thickens, and solidifies. I stay in one spot. A porcelain statue to look at. With people, my skin gets so hot and I melt again and again. I could die with happiness. Only to be born again the next morning and weep into my tea how I was secretly lonely. I think there are a million girls that are just like me. That makes me sad.

I am no dying breed.

I am nothing special.