Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me

Balance your house of cards. Stack more on top, even though you know the base is shaky. 

please don’t let there be a breeze

please don’t let there be a breeze

please don’t let there be a breeze

Because I have balanced everything, everything about me. And as long as it stands, I still have face. Once there’s that breeze, I’ll be undone, found out. I’ll have lost face. And what’s a girl without her face?

It feels like Simon and Garfunkel, and it rings like white noise.

It tastes salty-sweet.

Hugs at arms length?

It weighs like all the guilt from all the things I haven’t done yet.

I make choices for all the wrong reasons. All the wrong reasons. Is what I want what I want, or is it what I think I want? 

The Id is getting out of hand. Ego, where the fuck are you?

Mostly it’s just because you miss not being missed.

I have a good idea now, of how it will be after I die. I will be remembered and beloved for a time, by some people. But eventually you won’t be missed anymore. 

(Should I worry about the depth or the breadth?)

Fewer and fewer people will visit your grave, fewer and fewer people will be able to recall the sound of your laugh, fewer and fewer people will wonder about the your unfulfilled possibility.

At least you’ll be able to breath easy. You won’t have to worry about your house of cards anymore. They’ll be immortalized as an Ideal. And then they’ll melt away, slip away, like the girl at the party in the light blue dress. Pretty but forgettable.

In the end, all they will remember is a feeling. Your face will blur, and become generic, but still pretty. Did she have blue eyes? Was her chin notable? Your face will be forgotten, but it will embodied a feeling, and you will be mostly good things. 

Don’t judge me. I know it’s simple, I know it’s nothing special, but don’t look down on me for being the sorry me I am. It’s okay if you interact. It’s okay if you laugh. Please, please laugh.

Light me a cigarette and let me run away.

You’re a philosophy major?

.... Maybe I can give philosophy another chance.

I make choices for all the wrong reasons. Maybe will they lead me down the right path.

You believed in the death penalty?

I believe in revenge, but that doesn’t work.

I miss you. I miss that minute.

I miss Huckleberry Finn.

"...all my words come back to me..."

I validate your existence. 

I write your story to validate your existence, just the way you always wanted.

It’s more beautiful that way.