(no subject)
Last year, around this time, on Friday night, I left Frank's birthday party hours before I should have to go fuck someone else.
I could make a list of all the regrets I have, but my hand would cramp before I could even scratch the surface, and all I'd end up with would be a dead lover and a list.
He won't be turning 35 tomorrow.
I think this is actually getting worse.
I could make a list of all the regrets I have, but my hand would cramp before I could even scratch the surface, and all I'd end up with would be a dead lover and a list.
He won't be turning 35 tomorrow.
I think this is actually getting worse.