... and make sure you tell Daddy...

“$7.28”

X-ACTO blades and a kinder surprise. - Because remember that even so, I’m still a child.

“Don’t forget to remember me”

I feel awfully broken, and lost, and lonely. 
The loneliness is all my own doing. But just like the five-year-old me, and the accidental double knot in my shoelaces, I’m not sure how to undo it.

I’m just writing to finish the song.

I lost it, and even though I tried, I couldn’t find it again.

blades & chocolate - how poetic - (perhaps in a cheap sort of way) - but what am I to say.

“and even when it’s not, 

I tell her everything’s all right”

(I’m afraid I’ve become just like them - the colors I see are all a little more muted)

And everyone understands my experiences exactly because they’ve all had them too, and yet I can’t quite articulate the particulars that make up my emotions, and so the isolation begins.

I am a terrible person for you to have in your life.

I just want to make you happy.

It’s funny how it envelops your life. (how delicious).

(It’s just a paintbrush, right?)

I’ve started writing in my moleskin again 

“go out there are don’t know any better”

Everything is better when it’s sappy (Carrie Underwood, won’t you play my anthem)

Remember when Nonni was alive? She talked about God with such conviction, that after every time we visited, I would start to believe. And for a week or so after we left, I would pray. And then I would remember that there’s no such thing as god, and that prayers were simply fruitless goals, the outcomes of which I was putting in the hands of a fantasy.

We’re just involved with A Constant State of Melancholy. Perpetual Sunday evenings, the thought of that much depressed gloom is Glum’s version of horrifying.

“... and I may hate myself in the morning...”

Absurdity is the only thing that makes sense right now

Like a vase, dropped on the tiled floor, cracked.

                                Writing is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

I can still french braid my hair.