it's painful when you casually mention all the things i've been obsessing over for months on end.
friendship is passive aggressive and riddled with hesitation when juxtaposed to what had been.
sincerity is fucking killing me, it's hard to even breath when not behind a veil of irony, and if these words sound contrived or poorly articulated it's because they're in their thirteenth rehearsed draft.
staring into the holes of your jeans to your red and chafing skin made me feel turned on again.
focusing on my posture as you rant obnoxiously about some minor insignificance.
i hope that we never relate ourselves again to young adult characters under the same blanket watching twin peaks below a string of soft christmas lights in december inhaling each other till we fall asleep.
never met a girl who knew communist theory like the back of her hand, quoted shakespeare earnestly, listened to shitty lo-fi bands, hated all the same things as me, quelled my perpetual discomfort.