hell yeah.

so now i'm seventeen. do i get a prize?

sigh. i am sure that you'll get around to looking, so here it is: i'm tired. don't you get tired? i just never know what to expect... am i first, am i last, am i even on the list? no idea.
it's nothing personal (ok, so maybe it's personal) but it isn't intended to alienate. we just need to come to conclusions. i know how i feel, but i'm not sure whether this is convenience. i'm not a television to be turned off and on at will. this, dear girl, is more than that...

there are so many things going on that i just can't fuck around with those that can be avoided. i know you don't want to hear my problems, so by all means don't. walk away. stare expressionlessly. do not, however make the mistake of saying something you don't mean (or at least gives the illusion) because the words i've been picking are thought out. just because i don't say anything doesn't mean i don't feel anything.

what can i say? happy birthday to you, too.

oh god this internet romance is killing me.