it's 3:01 am, on December 22, 2001 - love, abridged.

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I had this entry all written out (and saved, still) right after I'd read "A Separate Peace", but I don't have the balls to post it. Because I remember reading all those journal entries and thinking, 'oh, she means someone else', so I can't but wonder if everything I know, I don't.

I can write and rewrite things until the fucking cows come home, but none of them are going to be the perfect thing to say. That's pedestrian. So. I'm left with knowledge that I'm chickenshit to give out, because, I hate being the dumb idylistic one, because that's the one people always laugh at in movies.

Wow, that's an abridged version of the situation.

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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015

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