Fuck. I cut my finger because i’m shaky-sad and trying to peel potatoes. The song that’s playing just sounds like the way i know you feel for me and it’s making everything worse. I’m fucked. I’m the person i never wanted to be. I’m breaking your heart and i hate myself for it. My eyes are blurred with salt water and the only person who i can talk to is too far to see and i’ve misplaced my phone as usual. My heart is making me nauseous and i’m the kind of blue that makes your throat hurt. Fuck.
We could do this.
We could go to Amsterdam and pay attention to all the houses. We could count the number of planes we see in the sky this year. We could pick some raspberries and cry a little, listen to music even though it’s not very good. We could buy notebooks and never fill them. We could never talk again.