Masochist

I want to live,
I want to give
I've been a miner
for a heart of gold. - Neil Young

And I don't know when my writing started becoming so.... vulnerable. And I don't know when I stopped being able to recognize it.
It seems somethings changed, my thoughts, the foundation of who I am hasn't changed. But somewhere along the way, at some point the way I process them has altered in some way. I no longer get upset when things aren't going the way they should. I tear up when I watch sad movies, and my ability to fall and deal with it, dear god its frightening.
I fell pretty hard yesterday, physically.. I think. The funny thing is, I couldn't care less. I have a fat lip and a crooked tooth, and scratched my glasses, but it felt good. It felt good to feel the rush of being alive, and falling, and having to nurse yourself back to health. And I cant help but wonder when this sensation went from making me want to break down and cry, to grinning, joking about, and displaying these scars proudly. I am not perfect, and I love that. God every little thing that could be wrong with me, the scars, the mental aberrations I totally adore. And I'm starting to see that this is the standard I hold people to, its not conventional.
I want to know people who wear their wounds with pride. People who are different, but not on purpose, that's just the way they are and they love it. Screw these people with perfect teeth, and hair, and skin, and whatever. I want someone with character. Someone with personality in every way you look at it.
And once I realize this, I notice all the people in my life I hold dear maintain these characteristics, and I couldn't ask for more.