I’ve got fire in my belly and ice in my veins.

I’m hot-tempered and [sometimes] cool under pressure.

I’m grandiose and self-deprecating.

Naive and suspicious.

Gullible and paranoid.

I can’t change but I want to.

I want you to love me but I set the bar impossibly high, desperately hoping you’ll try to surmount it.

I don’t know if Paradoxes are forgivable,

and I don’t even know if I care.

But I hope I do.

And I hope we are.

I hope we’re all forgivable.

At this point, at the very least, I have to forgive myself,

even if no one else does.