I feel like someone is stabbing my back. Literally, I have a shooting, stabbing pain at the top of back below my neck. I suppose this means it's time to go back to physical therapy ( Read more... )

Sometimes I don't think about it and that's a good thing. But when I drive by your apartment, or walk into Hannaford, or try to cook myself dinner--I wish I could forget about you. I don't miss the idea of you; I miss you.

You can't help who you fall for. You can help how hard you fall ( Read more... )

I wish I could wake up to your face every morning. It scares me to think that it may never happen.

It's been a while ( Read more... )

I don't really like writing in this anymore. I don't really like how it forces me to feel sad all the time. I mean, I'm really just forcing myself to feel sad because that's what I've always done. But I think I'm back to where I was around this time last year; most of last year. And really, I'm happier. That's not really why I decided to write ( Read more... )

False alarm.

Not everything needs to be so serious.

And my forehead is peeling. Yum ( Read more... )

I wish I were the person who could ask the questions I wanted answers to but not be so god damn afraid of the answers. I wish.

But, hey, I turn the big two-one in a week. Wanna celebrate?

STOP BEING SUCH A DICK.

That's all I have to say about that.