Friday, July 8
i feel so sick thinking about everything. around here, i just want to puke blood and die. really. oh God.
jean: i really want to be there for you and everyone else. really. i clapped for four years.. but only one thing is stopping me now, when it never did before. my pride. i'm sorry. give me a few more weeks. i'll swallow my pride then. and i'll be your biggest fan. i'm sorry. i just can't promise it now. it's all too much just yet. you know how i feel about things. how i'm never good enough. even now. trying and trying to earn my way to heaven, but always sent to purgatory. you know what i mean. life is a facade, and heaven's laughing at us.
a few years from now, i'll laugh at my hormonal self and how intense i am. it was better some time ago. then all of you left, and i reverted to my old, intense self. laughing over trifles, crying over naught. the sky was red last night.
it isn't what
is that matters; it's what
seen. blame it on the world. to hell with it.
it must've been love.
9:54 pm
xoxo
