I know I shouldn’t apologize for the things I keep apologizing for but I’m sorry for all of them anyway, and there I go again. I feel like you and I played a game of paper scissors rock and we both lost somehow. Nothing is okay and I don’t know what to do about it.
Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like the pretty little Mexican girls running around outside the Target in their plastic shoes, playing tag and laughing. Then again he knew bad judgment from good, and an ultimatum from a friendship.
I laugh at things that aren’t funny. Harder, if they’re worse. Tragedy is when you lose your job or get the flu. Comedy is when my life is a river of shit and I can’t swim.
There was a moment when I successfully imagined being with you, and being the right thing for you, and the delusion felt great. I want that in pill form.