#155: Just my millionth late night confession
My name should have been something like Pixie. One of those warning names. Like, the name is just going to say everything and that everything is enough for you to know, to just know, my parents were effed, i was effed, I’ve already had sex with too many people, or I haven’t had sex enough.
I live in one of the largest cities of the world and I am blinded by my inability to speak. I am a mute and I like it that way. I have no expectations. I cannot get into trouble if I cannot use my tongue (words to haunt later on).
Dick told me people who don’t know me in california read this blog. weeeeellll that’s super gay. and i don’t mean gay in the politically incorrect way, i mean it in the middle school pc way. let’ just get that out of the way.
ever feel like you’re drowning in a song for a months at a time, only to find that song years later, with a broader chest and listen to it, certain the song has now drowned in you? It’s a good feeling, yeah? Sometimes. How would you know.
Who are you? Why did you let me sleep at your apartment all those nights? Did I trust you with things?
Really, okay. I just wanted some punk guy with a cool car to fall in love with me or something and take me to shitty shows and pierce my ears and yell at my dad for locking me away in my bedroom and stand outside my window late at night baring his soul and singing me ramones songs like, like, out of a movie, okay?
The next sentence out of my mouth is a bad one so if you’re the person who this is written to-who these are always written to-look away so it’ll be like I never said it.
Sometimes I want you to forget about me. Sometimes I feel like you really are about to.
