You’re both introverted and extroverted at the same time. You have notebooks filled with writing and napkins that you scribbled ideas on and walls plastered with art– however you define that. You don’t root yourself without spreading your vines and blossoming. You appreciated that metaphor.
Each time he texts you to “hang out” at one in the morning, you forget all semblance of self-respect despite knowing that he keeps a running harem of other girls who are similarly attracted to his tortured-intellectual mystique.
“And that’s the way it is with the Southern liberals. They condemn those with whom they disagree for speaking while they sit in fearful silence.”