I am going to be 23, more than i am right now, on wed.


AND I CAN'T GET NICO OUT OF MY HEAD. Like blood and cells and ginger ale he floats around in there until he's apart of everything that he shouldn't be. And i miss my cat, but if i don't sleep i wont cry so i don't sleep even though its been weeks and everything feels like ice cubes and fuzzy and far away nothing. Evrything is nothing and the meanings dead. It trys to struggle for life through digits - money and time- but it is not strong enough for me anymore. not real. realness is dead, dead like ashes after cremation, or maybe even more so. I dated you and you and you and we flirted for a brief time that I won't remember except for bragging rights or fleeting moments of dying embarresment because you were never good enough for who i am supposed to be, the supposed to be that other people see and feel and percieve like air molocules drifting past lazely in front of my removed exsitance, knowing i wont lift a finger to catch them. nothing. not an ounce or a gram of movement. why is the only reasoning that i have anymore. and fear that would cripple if i could feel it, partnering in a silent movie where i think we might have a future together but you tell me every day that we wont, and i pretend you didnt because i dont hear you say the exact words Colin.

I am no longer worried about making the wrong choices, as i have already made them.