i'm stuck here in a cycle and i am getting older but i am not growing up. my heart is getting soft dark spots on it like a fruit that has gone bad or is soft because too many hands have squeezed it.
it was the first time he'd been out during the day since he'd gone to the beach, found him*, and they...
he clearly hadn't slept well since then, and he hadn't been eating well, maybe not at all outside of pure survival— and despite the summer heating up, he kept his long »
i like to pretend that you didn't mean as much to me as you did. but deep down, i know the truth. when i write, it's about you. i may lie to myself and say it isn't, but it always is. it's always been about you.