It's only been three minutes.
I don't understand this culture. This breed doesn't make sense to me.
I want to laugh, but I want to crack open like a jawbreaker and forget about the mess and who will feel hurt and who will gain a petty victory.
It's only been six minutes.
The door is being broken down. Now walked through. Now slammed.
I don't understand the dramatics.
The windows are being broken through, and I can feel it, but I can't hear it.
And I feel sick to lay next to someone who says it's love, though everyone tells me that I should feel happy. I'm fucking blessed to have someone obsessed with my presence because no one wants to be alone.
I felt fine by myself.
At least all I had to measure up to was my latest best. And I think it made me feel prettier. And less stupid. And less cruel.
It's much less stressful not to participate.
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