This is my theraupetic space. Mostly irrational thoughts sprinkled with delusions.
The first time I got drunk, you were there with me. You asked me if you can sat beside me, and I say, sure, go ahead. I pat you. We laughed. We kissed. We made love.
I enjoy this giddiness you're giving me, and in return I'm going to give one more day for that deadline. Love (in a formal, non loving kind of way), The girl with 12 brands..
"I hate you." "You will hate me even more when I'm gone on August." "Where are you going. Take me with you. Hide me in your trunk. You can drop me off anywhere. The Atlantic ocean is fine.
I don't know if I can take it anymore. I know I must, but honestly I don't know if it's even worth it.
Never thought it's possible, but now I know that you can work to the point where you just can't move anymore.
So we part ways, you cranky and I tired, after a discussion about life that turns sour.