I'm sorry

I'm sorry for being pathetic sometimes. I just can't help it around you; you make me into my antithesis. I am clingy and I am desperate and I am completely under your control. At times I fear that my heart is no longer housed within your chest, that mewling, it has crawled from my rib cage and slunk it's way inside of you and stitched itself to yours. Beating only by the grace of your ever faltering organ. I have no control over my happiness, it all hangs on you. And I am silently ashamed. I suppose I no longer fear that I will be as distant and heartless to you as others have been. Rather, I now fear that you shall be the one to break my heart. Nothing has even been set into motion, yet already I feel myself cracking. My skirt has been caught by the maddening contraption which takes you deeper and deeper into the abyss, and though I trail behind you, my progress thus far is by most standards impressive. But I know that my entrapment is no accident. It is exactly where I want to be.

Default

every once in a while I find that my default emotion switches from content to uncomfortable and gloomy. This doesn't mean that I can't be happy, it just means that when I'm throught being happyI return to a sort of listless melancholy.
This can be brought on by any number of things. A poor morning, a poor choice, an absent friend, a harsh remark. Normally these things are more or less commonplace, but at times, and under the right circumstances, the smallest things will spin me into a rather deep funk. The most I can do is try to stay happy, and avoid things that will agitate me further, like my mom, or attempting to put together outfits.
I'm in such a funk now, and I hope it passes by morning.