only too bad that they were the things you were trying to get me to recognize for centuries (and loved me, even still). and i tell ginger, drunk and sarcastic, that in another life, i hope that i meet you sooner and that i listen well. she tells me that i will. and even through her false-orange lipstick, i don't believe her.

i'm trying to live life like it's september. and it'll be a decade from now before i sort it out. and by then, even now, it will be far too far too late.

on sundays. i suck.

i'm a really bad drunk.

i drove a car today for several hours for the first time in probably a decade. i drove as fast as my heart was beating and gripped the wheel hard. fast fast. and go go go. afterward, all i wanted was for you to fuck me like you *are* the love of my life and like you've always done since the moment we met. and hard. but i walked half way to you, the other night, only to realize that I have no idea, anymore, where you live.

metaphors for real life make me want to pluck every single one of my eye lashes from my head.

fuck. shit. damn. i miss you.

fuckshitdamn. i gave up the right to miss you.