i try to make everything poetic. i try to make everything neat, and orderly. i delete everything i wrote, because it doesn't go with my first sentance. my mind wanders, but i remind myself what i'm writing about, so that it all relates. and its really been pissing me off lately.

my stuff is packed, and i'm ready to go. but the moving truck won't be here for another three weeks. so i'm waiting. i'm waiting for my next rush. there seems to be nothing to do in between. exept wait.

its cool that you won't miss me that much. if at all. its not that i don't care, i'm just straight up sick of it, as always. at least, thats how you made it seem. no harm done, because my feelings don't count right? we must have skipped the step in between people, and the same person. it can't just happen like that. we never knew one another. we assumed we did, which i learnt today, is a lie. i'm not angry. i don't hate you. i'm dissapointed. (its weird now, because sitting here bored, i want to call you, and do something. just to do something. then i think of calling someone else, but if i were to do that, i'd actually have to make myself presentable.)

sometimes, i pretend i'm okay, when i'm not. sometimes, i dial your number 13 times in one night, but never push send. sometimes, i look at your pictures, just to remember your face. sometimes, i say 'i love you' just because i know you'll say it back. sometimes, i sleep in until its dark out again. sometimes, i wont go to sleep until its mourning again. sometimes, i listen to songs that make me stressed and want to throw up. sometimes, i listen to music that is so loud it hurts my diaphram. sometimes, i lay in bed and imagine how it would go if we spoke. sometimes, i think i'm crazy. sometimes, i wish the world would just dissappear. sometimes, i imagine what it would be like if things were different. (weather its my hair or you're emotions.) sometimes, i play connect the dots with the freckles on my body. sometimes, i hate you.