I love these little talks we have, the ones where we say nothing at all. The ones where the pause between the next sentence is pregnant with animosity and the delicacy of projecting the right words into the conversation. The talks that are no longer second nature, the ones we have to convince ourselves that we are still friends. We don’t need to communicate with words though, the speculation in the tone of our voices and the speckled hatred in our eyes portrays a relationship long dead.
how much do I hate myself for the “I miss you” text I just sent?
the answer is WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, ALLIE
I think I love you;
and when you call me to talk before you sleep, it doesn’t help that.
Nor does it help when you let your fingers trace the outline of my skin,
or fall asleep snoring on my shoulder,
or when you say things,
look at me,
There are fireworks going off outside and immediately I thought of the time Mal and I came back from KC and before we even went home and dropped off our shit, we went to Angie’s apartment and lit shit off outside her window and she came out screaming “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?” and I’ve never loved Angie more.
So far I’ve convinced Rilo that I was the original Ginger Spice and we have a countdown to when she’s 11 and will receive her Hogwarts letter… so how much should I start setting aside for therapy?
ugh, this girl I have a total dorky crush on is playing at pageturners right now and I’m out of town. AND M Ward is there. AND my best friends are there. H8 everything.