. . . all I ever wanted was to dream another sunset with you . . .

So I can't figure out if I'm giving up, or if I already have.

There's a line from a book that kind of comes to mind - "You've been dead for three hundred years, you're just to mean to find a grave to lie down in."

Not necessarily the three hundred years part, or the too mean part, just . . . the notion, I suppose is the word I want.

I don't know.

Maybe I am too mean to find a grave to lie down in.

Maybe there's just not a grave hollow enough to fill the emptiness in my heart.

Maybe I secretly love this.

*scoff*

Yeah,

just as much as I hate idiots at gas stations and perverts on subways.

Not.

A.

Fan.

*I'm leaning towards the thought process that I'm just a closet masochist, but who am I to make judgements?*

. . . I don't believe you anymore. I'm not sure I ever did . . .