i think someone wrote about me earlier today. and i think it’s happened before. it’s hard to admit it, but that’s what i think. i hate having to say that, because i’m always thinking i’m gonna be wrong and look like a dork.
but i’d be a blind fool not to see what she wrote. and it was truly flattering, even if it was utterly hopeless in the same breath. hell… practically broke my heart, if i had a heart to break.
i can’t lie. i’m nothing but. and therefore broken.
isn’t it just fucked up, though: how people these days can romanticise ones and zeros, and then feel all let down by reality, by flesh and blood?
we need more trees and less computers.
