one of them is so attractive i can't stand it. we have matching thick rimmed black glasses but he wears it better.
i am getting secondhand smoke just from watching him light up so many cigarettes.
i can smell the white privilege coming through the screen.
it's 4:40. a.m.
i have an overwhelming desire to take off all of my clothes and show myself to a pretty stranger for validation.
this is not weakness.
this is strength.
i have an overwhelming desire to text the man with too much hair and remind him of my existence. i think he is lame; i wanted him to touch me.
i don't think i'll have many other chances.
the beatnik boy's shirt is unbuttoned, his hair is too messy, his nose is too big and i wish i were the suspenders holding him up.
i don't know why i'm awake right now, but i am. i didn't brush my teeth//i didn't wash my face. i miss having my own room. tomorrow i think we're going shopping. it's going to be too cold and it might rain. i wanted to write in the coffee shop there but it looks so small and i have anxiety and i am too big for the little space but i wanted to try it out alone. i wanted to meet a someone with sad eyes and long fingers.
i want to be kissed.
i want to be adored.
i want to blow the rest of my money on tattoos.
i am too tired to sit through the rest of this movie just like i've always been too tired to finish reading the book it's based upon. just like how i've always been too tired to sleep.
just like i've always been too tired to breathe.
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