Mood: torched I heard him over the hum of the fan, but a response would have felt fabricated and not aided by fact, so I willingly chose to discard it. I'm losing touch of your fingertips, a day at a time. At this hour, there is no one left to connect with. A deadened silence lulls my urge to perform the great escape. And I come here, pouring my life down in filthy raindrops in the hopes that someone will burn with similar destructive tendencies. I can't talk. What purpose do you serve? What side are you working for? A clever disguise. But not clever enough for me to have overlooked the fur beneath wool. I overlooked out of discomforting desperation for change, for the obsessive feeling of something new. It's quite a hobby you excel at--making me want to disconnect permanently. The passage told me I need someone who burns for their passions. Who walks the streets alone, noticing the unnoticeable. I want every second to mean something so moving. I want to be the girl in the song. I want to befriend the aware outcasts whose places are hidden in the cracks of busy streets. But what I really want
Steeple guide me to my heart and home
11:04 p.m.//05.22.07
Sound: Baby Shambles -- Fuck Forever
something I wouldn't forget,
but would willingly ignore,
...for something new
It stuck in me
Wishing silently
that it wasn't referring to me,
but deep down,
I felt the dagger of realization
It's sometimes amazing
how desire can alter
personal truths,
enough to destroy
the most clever and cognizant
is to let him know
that I miss him every single day.
Every single one.
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