somewhere, there are partying pantsies floating..

too prideful. too clever. neither. either.

we touched.

i mean, he touched me on the bared side of my shoulders. on valentine's day. i know. but i could've fainted then and there. and i would if we touched again.

i'll be going out with the cute (and unfortunately available) wnjz this sunday, but only because i really do not know what else i could do to put myself out of this misery wanting EC.

EC's become my daily ritual suicide. i could throw myself out my window now, but because i'm living on the first storey i'd probably just bruise my bum.

your hair's looking nice, your skin's looking radiant, you've started looking better in pictures than you usually do. you're no longer fat and OH BOY WHAT MUSCLES YOU HAVE NOW.
you're looking so fine now i just want to bite myself and bleed.

not good, t.

it's valentine's day today.
i want to stay home and drink a gallon of milk and not laugh for a day and cry.

we carry on, naturally.

but what else would i do except that?
who's listening to me? my walls, my curtains, or the air.
places i once were i am no more.
this growing space, the ailing connection, so faintly forlorn, so lonely.

hello?
hello?
can you hear me?