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yea. its like 3 am and every one is drunk but me.
no worries. every thing taste like shit.
bored.
lonely.
want a boy.

as always,
liz

in chicago.

your eyes must do some raining
if you are ever going to grow.
But when crying don't help and
you can't compose yourself.
It is best to compose a poem,
an honest verse of longing
or simple song of hope.

sweet weekend.
friday:
chilled with emilee & danny
later on we went to matts
saturday:
chilled with emilee
hung out at Matts all night
sunday:
emilee's
then me and emilee
went to the golf course
and fucked around on my snowboard

it can't get any better than this.

growing up is going to blow.

my head hurts.

but my heart hurts more.

this city.
is driving
me out of
my mind.

there are worse things
than being alone.

this always happends.

fuck.