What a fucking weird weekend.
I was a quiet, lunchbox lonely little boy. Reading sci-fi, broken treehouse on the shore. At nineteen, the talking in my head got harder to understand. No work, no school, drifting, a failing satellite. Dont feel sorry for me, Ive been happy too. Manic, kindly, blinding, high-res euphoria.
I was a quiet, lunchbox lonely little boy. Reading sci-fi, broken treehouse on the shore. At nineteen, the talking in my head got harder to understand. No work, no school, drifting, a failing satellite. Dont feel sorry for me, Ive been happy too. Manic, kindly, blinding, high-res euphoria.
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I like the sound of your weekend. It feels familiar. Although I sometimes find the high-res euphoria a little hard to take in large doses. I tend to need a nap afterwards.