EOA is a tumblelog.

The pianist of the doors died, man.. I feel like crap that I didn’t look up his solo shit while he was alive. I’m vibin’ right now.

I haven’t been looking back though. That’s for bitches.
I’ve been facing lots of things, and lots of things don’t bother me much anymore. I have love where some fears used to be. You took advantage of me when I was a little boy. I saw you and to my surprise I greeted you with a smile. Even gave you a hug. The look on your face was perfect.. And I feel like lemon squeezed on seafood, baby. Shit is gold.

I got this strange attraction to things I may never say or do. Telling someone how I feel is a nice example. I rather look at a rock, and have conversation with you about a rock than tell you how I feel about you. because I want how I feel about you to myself. Feelings are like my children. I can’t trust what you’ll do with them. I gotta do what I gotta do with them.

Or I’m just puss

I’m saying things so that I won’t have to say them a million times in my head for not saying them.