friskin

It's like...oh yeah. This is what it's like. And there's no possible way for me to make this make sense. Because I've been in my pajamas since six o'clock, and because my cheek still burns where someone's five o'clock shadow found a happily, haply, disappointing medium between love and something else, while the others looked on in jealous disapproval. It is years in the making, but his only excuse is, "You remind me of a girl I used to know."

It's funny how a turn of the head that can put you back in your place.

Sometimes it gets so bad that I forget to speak. I think, "Why won't you just say what you mean and mean what you say?"

We were closer than close, baby. I tore the shirt off your back.