Alright, sometimes you wonder around in this jungle called life with your head held high knowing that someone where out there is someone that is thinking of you in an extra special way. That someone appreciates how you look. How you feel. How you move. How you speak. Not necessarily worships the ground you walk on, but generally loves to be with you. Would never hurt you. Ever. Never. You just love being in the room with them. Just watching how they touch their chin when they speak about their favorite brand of gummy bears. You can sit in silence and just hold hands. You can lay down together turn on Deathcab for Cutie and just enjoy it. Just sit there and suck it in and never want to move. You never want it to end. They wear studded belts. They let you paint their nails. Blue eyes. Brown eyes. Doesn't really matter in the long run. Neither does being really tall. It just matters that they listen to you.

Soulmate = That Boy

I'm sorry that I've been gone for like forever. I am tired of things. I am apathetic numb girl. I can hardly think. I didn't go to class this morning. I have come down with this awful cold thing. Bleh. My throat hurts so much.

Why must I be so sincere. So honest. So "passionately" obsessive that it hurts me in the long run. It always does. I always hurt myself. Advice to you: Your Mother is Always Right. I mean, make the mistake first. Do it your way. I do. Then I'm like, "Shit! She was right." Oh, well. I will learn one day. I'm still looking for my punk in shining armor. If you are it sign my guest book and make my day. If you aren't him, then sign the damn thing anyway. Does anyone even read this? I'm just curious. I don't really care. I do this for me anyway. I'm a writer.  
¶ 7:01 PM |