the frustration

As far as I'm concerned, there is only one issue here. The fact that I'm being intrinsically extremely passionate.

And there is nothing wrong with that, to be frank.

God forbid I were a cynic, like some. But I can't help raising the cynic-front in matters as such.

It is a natural defense system. And to be honest it works pretty well. Just act all uninterested and look hot something like that I think that's how it works but I don't want it to work not with me and not with this. 

Ah all the fucking mistakes I've made and all the idiots I've given a part of me to.

It's just seems so fucking unimportant when my room smells so wonderfully pink and ethereal. I walk through the door and it strikes me again and again and it seems so bizarre that there's such an aroma and its origin is temporarily unknown to my juvenile brain until it's there - flourishing and pretty before me. 

And when it blends with the smoke of a cigarette, one particular cigarette, it's even better.

Makes me happy.