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I'm sick of it.
I'm sick of giving a shit about you.
I'm sick of poisoning myself so you can have a reason to not choose me.
I'm sick of your pedestal.
I'm sick of thinking you're so great.
I'm sick of loving you.
It was cute you wanted to be a singer. It was nice to have known you. (god god god it was painful to have known you and I very much wish I'd never answered your summons).
I loved that feeling of being in love
whatever that was.
It was interesting to realize how fucked up I still was from my childhood
and how it
will only come up when I feel feelings of love
fascinating.
as I've said, your conversation was limited. How many more times could we talk about light shit. Perhaps I should have written down all the movies you told me I would like.
All I wanted was one tiny bit
huge bit
of security - of feeling like you liked me instead of eating off of saying it one time back in the 60's.
I know so very much about you. I can even predict what you're doing tonight - it's jeopardy then tacos - or maybe you skipped jeopardy, and you'll be pontificating to either Lin or maybe some new possibility that will find out in five months you can't go there.
and bye to them too.
It was crippling to be just
another one
yeah, I definitely have some pride don't i.
My dryer is squeaking. I guess it's about to die.
The sun is going down.
I'm headed to my sisters tomorrow - not the house you went to - but her other house, and I'll try to be distracted but wishing I had my brother's tools more
shrooms and weed
and oblivion
but instead, I'll feel it all
or alcohol
boring
bored.
I was always on edge with you.
I was so looking forward to relaxing once you gave me a look that I could translate into
"ah, there it is, he's in"
but you
were
not
in
I loved how happy I was to have you that last non-bad date we had in highlands.
it was nice
to
pretend.
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