i'm done with this one.

my life is going places, and so am i.

if you look hard enough, you'll find me.

for some reason i think i just realized that it didn't mean anything to you.

that sorta makes me feel shitty.

i guess it's all a basketball game in the end.

doesn't make it hurt any less.

ohhh, i'm a sap.

i can't wait to run away to london.

if you're looking for me in september... or october... or november... or december...

you may want to look in a flat in london.

kuz that's where i'll be.

fuck yes.

that's it. it's all in.
now begins the wait.
i want this so much.
i need it.
because i am scared of it.
and i have a feeling i'm not going to get it.
a really strong one.

i am filled with so much resentment.
i have so much hate in me.
i am so ungodly fucking bitter.
i am just so fucking angry.

sometimes i don't even know why.

it makes me so fucking sad.

fucking discipline.

james joyce. erotic letters to his wife? yes ( Read more... )

first off, let me say that last night i tried to write some pretty little sentences that sounded nice when placed next to each other and subsequently discovered that i was rubbish at it. so i stopped ( Read more... )

the more you bug me about something, the less inclined i am to do it.
ever.

ps> you remind me of someone bad.
so just stop, okay?

this is the only case in which i don't mind rejection so much.