Perhaps, my strangeness is my charm.
I'm awkward, even with the people I feel most comfortable with.
I walk clumsily. My stare is often blank, I daydream more than I should.
I humm a lot. I like touching stuff--leaves on trees, the spines of books, 
clothes on racks. I'm intrigued by anonymity. 
I often purposely leave hidden notes in books at the library, 
sometimes I write on their pages. I leave in them secrets, thoughts, quotes...
never my name. Even in my personal journal entry's, I purposely leave out the dates in which they were written, and leave only the time in which I wrote; 
2:11 AM, 4:15 AM, 11:18 PM. I like the sense of mystery. 
I don't mind when people spell my name wrong. 
Out of all my visits to Starbucks (which is a great amount) 
there have been about three or so to ever get it right. 
Gladis, Gladice, Gladece...Gladys.
I prefer sweet'n low over any other kind of sugar. 
I tend to find meaning in just about everything.
I'm very introspective. Melancholic, even. 
I'm quite compassionate, and well-mannered.
My humor is more on the sarcastic side. I could be witty when I choose to be.
"I'm so lonesome I could cry." I could listen to that song over, and over...
Johnny Cash's voice is fascinating to me. I have a record of his pinned to my wall.
My room resembles that of a museum, or an art gallery. 
Or a decor hoarder in the making.
There's this quote I read in an interview of Devandra Banhart once. He said,
"The space you live in reflects the inside of your mind." I believe that to be so. 
My room is a mere reflection of my brain. I'm a romantic. Hopeless? 
I'm still deciding on that. I want, I don't want, but I think I do. 
I should, shouldn't I? Yes, I can be quite confusing,
especially in terms of relationships. 
There are times I cannot make sense of it. Myself, of my own self. 
but with much humility in regard, I know I'd be worth it. 
I'm worth it. Just like you.