Natasha says...
fucking Boris is sickly so I ain't go shit.
shit...I ain't go it, man.
I wish I could scan these bad ass pictures because they are so myspace worthy.
oh dear lord.
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you took off your clothes and left on the light you stood there so brave you used to be shy each feature improved each movement refined and eyes like a show room
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uhm. I really, really need to get my shit together. I'm trying so fucking hard but everything just piles up to the fucking sky. with no money and no direction I have never felt so free, but I just know that something is bound to tear. and everything will unravel. and god knows I'm no seamstress.
I can do this though. I've done much harder things and been through so much worse. I can definitely do this.
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and we’ll promise to leave and we’ll do it together and we’ll break the somnambulance that tore us apart at the beginning.
and we’ll start over under a blanketed sky and nothing will matter except all that we are not.
and we’ll paint the sky a portrait of burning flames in a still frame captured just before it burns out.
"I rounded down so you wouldn't think I was gross." hahahaha oh my lord. could I adore this boy any more?