To…, I wish I had fucked you. Or you had fucked me – I’m not fussy on the particulars. I wish that on one of those two drunken occasions that something almost could of/would of/should of (?) happened that I hadn’t pulled back. I’ve recalled the memories in my head, replayed them, and continued them,
That’s what I like about summer. My life is suspended for the time being until it starts up again in the fall. During that time, nothing really goes right or wrong in the grand scheme of things. I sort’ve float between where I am now and where I’m going to go. It’s nice. But it’s
I don’t know what to say. I just know this is wrong. Related Post You Aren’t My Prince Charming Unsure of what to say. Mom, I didn’t stop.
The only connection between your unquestionable intelligence and the sickness destroying your family is that everyone in your family, you included, use intelligence to justify sickness. You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse. And I think that’s because the only truly inapproachable concept for
Thinking about you. You have no clue. What are my thoughts? I want our bodies entangled. Grinding hard up against each other in attempts to get as close as we can. Our bodies soaked with sweat. Pulses risen. I want eye contact as we feel the chemistries mixing, pulling us closer. I want to watch
or end. Let the illusions in front of us disappear. Even if it hurts. Because perhaps it maybe won’t too. Related Post hands It will always be you. I just gotta get it out into the void.