Somehow, you see me as instinctive and impulsive.
Somehow, you fail to notice the hours I spend mulling over every decision. You fail to notice how many times I swing the cage door wide, only to shut it again. You fail to notice the calculated timing of everything I try to accomplish.
Somehow, you got me mixed up with someone who dances for their enjoyment, when I'm really the one who spends hours perfecting my routine before I show the world.