it's 7:08 pm, on March 20, 2010 - mean mr. mustard says.
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added, because i think there had never been a more accurate depiction of, anything, really.
Holmes shrugged, looked away. The great curse of life was this mind of his. Nothing ever stayed concealed. Holmes understood what he was doing to a painstaking degree, shoving Watson aside because then Watson would not be in love with him, and if Watson wasn't in love, it wouldn't matter anymore that Holmes was. Holmes thought it fascinating that he could know this so clearly, and yet persist.
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i've been creeping on livejournals today, before i remembered that shit, son, they've started to track those motherfuckers. whatevs, homeboys, i am a statue made of stone.
it's been ten years of my shit. ten years, ten years. maybe this is why i sympathize with pete wentz. no one could be angrier, more frustrated, think less of, or hate myself more than me.
i want to fucking disappear already.
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So I'm passing this exit sign for Mebane and thinking to myself, this is what closure tastes like.. Next rest stop 46 miles. See you on the road.
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moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
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bruise - June 29, 2015
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