(no subject)
It's weird how some things just die - the things inside, the certainties, the forevers, the illusions. And I keep going, I recycle my emotions, I try again, and I fall again - in love (with all the wrong guys) and down to my knees (for all the wrong reasons.) People are not really as pretty as I make them to be; I'm not as pretty as I make myself to be - but I tend to think that THAT is because no one will let me.