it’s a funny story, actually.

i’m constantly pouring tequila and wine down my throat, in an unconscious effort to numb who knows what feeling. it’s becoming something that happens without any thought at all. we slept in so many hotel beds, said so many things we thought we meant, but when it came down to being honest and whole, none of those things made a difference. you’re one of those hole in the wall people that i just can’t get out of my head, especially when you walk down the hall and i see confidence pouring out of every pore, every vein, only me. everything is temporary. you’re exhausting when you smile because i can’t stop staring, and when i end up in a stoned daze you’re there to awkwardly snap me out of it. i have a ball of frustration growing in my chest, spreading its wings and taking over everything that i do and feel. it’s the most uncomfortable pain in the sense that it never disappears, only lessens and grows like a terribly constructed rollercoaster in the middle of nowhere. i want someone to walk through cemeteries and abandoned houses with, is that so weird?