| ramble |
i love the way my fingers and arms are always stained with inks and paints. i hate the way i am never completely happy. i love the way i can always find bliss without any drug besides my imagination. i hate the way my imagination can get carried away. i love how he says my name. i hate how he says my name in anger. i hate how i remember the way he tuned his guitar before playing my song. i loved how he could always make me melt in his arms. i hated how he loved me. ---- i cannot wait until Mahatma's work is done and over. i also cannot wait until his roommate leaves so that i may hear his voice again. ---- watch me dance in the rain dance with me in the rain lets be in the rain again ---- i can already tell that my weekend is going to be blank. completely. my mother's birthday was yesterday. dave's was the day before that. ---- burn me i have always tried not to hate you i have never hated you you couldnt care enough to hate me you only deeply dislike me ---- i have spent the past fifteen minutes reading the diary of a girl who does not care much for me. but cares a good bit about the boy who cares a good bit about me. i am finding myself caring about her. although i do know that she would spit at that fact. ---- "love me forever and always" i cannot promise you that "oh...yes" sorry ---- why is it the truth always seems the hurt the most? i guess i might just go for a walk i'm anything but steady |