you are so poisonous and if you don't believe me then you should have seen just what you can do.
you won't ever, ever be happy and now i feel like i should stop trying. i know i should.
but the big picture is not even a big picture at all, i just think of my life as being made up of drawings and seasons and smells and paintings and words and smiles and strangers and bikes or calculus, a cold wind, cold feet, you warmed my hands, selfishness and frustration, and laughing, not knowing whats wrong with everything or anything, serene, chaos, tea or coffee or anything that is warm, like a fireplace or the people that are the best to me. that's how things are.
oh, and snow.
soon forgotten
