i wish i could write as beautifully as other people. i’m trying. but sometimes i don’t seem to like the constellation of words and sentences. sometimes i just write my thoughts to be a bit more free from the mess inside my head.
it’s 3:34 am and after writing the whole night with you, you still know how to make me feel bad and sad for trying to be nice to you. for trying to understand you. for fucking trying to fuck the sad out of you.