You are not charming, you are reckless.
Maybe I shouldn't worry so much. You're grown up. You're big. You can take care of yourself. Let it be. I shouldn't hunt you down, work you up. I should have known better. Shouldn't try to keep you loved and missed and all that because that don't happen much. Anymore, anyways. When you try things they don't work out. You fail. You irritate yourself and you annoy the hell out of others. But when you do it with ignorance, like second or third or fourth or whichever nature, you're good you're great you're awesome.
Maybe I should just pick up my own crap. Mind my own business because being sticky isn't sweet. Being sticky is being obsessed, diseased. Being stupid. Just learn to pick up my own crap and walk. Is crap vulgar?
No, it's Monday.