ploptoken

one of these days, i'll learn how to write.

one of these days, i'll figure out what i'm doing. too long have i sat here. looking at you. dreaming of you. my suffering is the taste of old pennies. falling quickly to the floor. i don't want to see it. or worry about it. i want to know that i have not suffered alone. why do i feel so alone?

tomorrow, someone will ask me, "Does that hurt?" and i will answer them truthfully and honestly. but i won't know why. why do i it? why do i wait for you when i know you don't exist? because one day, maybe, dreams will come true.