i'd keep telling myself to go to sleep because i'd see him sooner...& then i'd get all jumpy and not be able to close my eyes.

i just deleted seven paragraphs. swimswim. i like cinnamon rolls at one in the morning. and the prospect of change. of new things and people and places.

i want to write seventeen page letters and make one hundred and seventeen mixtapes/cds to everyone (anyone, anyone. i never really mastered disinterest) who is reading this right now.

haha. i just deleted seven more. i also type: do not read this sentence, but thought better of it. its been done. it gets old.

(we laughed on the bus. he hasnt grown up. i hesitate slightly, saying what i said to myself a few days before:

i never really...meant to grow up (at a whisper) it just sortof . happened)

and i'd like to know where the fuck my lunchbox from kindergarten is. bc i cant remember what it was & it hurts.

xo.


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