How are you?
Please tell me you are doing as bad as I am. Please tell me you hate it too. Tell me you cannot talk about it and that every time you try, you feel smothered.
Tell me you cannot sleep and choose to smoke a lot like me. Tell me nothing can actually make you feel better. Tell me you stopped being happy. Tell me it happened for real and that it wasn’t a dream.
Tell me: how are you?
I feel I have two options: start watching Parks and Recreation or suicide.
It wasn’t me
Do you ever feel so fucking angry that you deeply desire to kill someone?
Today I couldn’t answer a question that was apparently too personal so I rushed to the bathroom and broke in tears.
Sometimes she stares at me and her eyes kind of get sparkly as if she saw something in me no one sees. Then she gets closer, takes my jaw and kisses me on my cheek.
This gives me hope. Maybe I am not shallow.
This morning on the bus I was sitting next to this one girl that had her headphones on. She suddenly took them off and I heard the song she was listening to. I knew it and I started humming to it. She looked at me and then started singing.
That was the best part of my day.
Can’t wait to die.