3/18/08

Speak strange. God, I can’t stand to think you’ll forget my face. You know when it feels like everyone you ever love grows up and moves away and you’re just stuck here, waiting on something you can’t seem to make? You have the most irreverent things to say and I feel like that may be why you’ll definitely be the death of me. Let’s get away. All these houses look the same. I can’t wait to watch them fade or burn up in the bright light of whatever I make myself out to be eventually.