february twenty second.
this is the fourth one. I'm not much into trust. there aren't enough books to fuel the things I have to say. the sound of the pencil on this paper is likely bothering everyone, but I really could not care less what's going on through their heads or in their minds. she obviously didn't get the message. we have until 14 before our air supply is cut off. you can't handle the truth. you cannot handle the truth. I'd prefer pen, this is just getting sloppy and smudged. impurity is the opposing side and innocence is the reigning champ. candy wrapper bracelets, metallic nails and The Colour Purple are my bright afternoons. I made a snowflake today. I'm failing to understand non-conformity, as much as I want to learn; we are unoriginal. we are simply a mess of fabrications. I am 531,000 different people. individuality is for chumps. along with all of the other theories that have come to light in the past few weeks, I have concluded that I am hazardously in love. but I've come to believe that there are different ways a person can interpret it. love, typically, is the mind-blowing, stomach-turning, I-can't-breathe-unless-we're-together feeling. at the same time, it could be what you experience when you want something healthy and good for someone else instead of yourself. the kind of love I've got is unselfish.
LOVE IS PATIENT. LOVE IS KIND.