(no subject)
that's just how things seem to work out for me.
i reallyreally want to believe i deserve better than what ive been given. in general.
i can't even fucking think.
"i like you."
"that's tough, Joan," i said, picking up my book, "because i don't like you. you make me want to puke, if you want to know."
and i walked out of the room, leaving joan lying, lumpy as an old horse across my bed.
i reallyreally want to believe i deserve better than what ive been given. in general.
i can't even fucking think.
"i like you."
"that's tough, Joan," i said, picking up my book, "because i don't like you. you make me want to puke, if you want to know."
and i walked out of the room, leaving joan lying, lumpy as an old horse across my bed.