quarter life crisis # 35
Your suppose to be able to drink tequila while you read old love letters. Your suppose to be allowed to numb pain as you see fit. Why must I seek it out, this pain that no tears can heal, no time, place nor person can touch. there will never be a scar just a big fucking open wound thats so wreched everyone can see it. I dont want their pity I just want the pain to subside. I want leopards to change their spots, okay I want a fucking miracle. I want these letters to be true, I dont want to read these beautiful words and know that they are lies, why cant it be the truth? why do people say things they cant live up to? why do I seek to communicate with people through livejournal? what a sad fucking pitiful attempt at a cry for help. I shall stop ranting now. I miss you all.