I've always been expected to be the stoic kind, sifting through men, as seamlessly as the waves, eerily expressionless.
They say that I carry myself with a mysterious sense of detachment, scampering along with a comfortable sense of isolation. My socialization is limited to my trysts in the bedroom, the aftermath happening with the guy slowly treading out, perturbed by my lack of emotion.
My aloof existence has sparked discussions of a perhaps abused childhood, and the likes. My apathetic solitude and the lack of aggravation pertaining to it, ruffles quite a few of those hopefuls trying to squeeze their hands between my legs.
This feeling of disengagement hasn't been developed overnight. A heartbreak, three deaths, and after having been lost in a trail of smoke, it wasn't hard to be stoic.
They say, I lack drama.
Why not see the world inside my head?
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