whyyyyyy i’m still just sad. some weird part of me hoped he would text me tonight. i still want to feel wanted, feel chosen - even in this shitty situation. instead i’m in bed with a cold press on my face because all the alcohol i’ve drunk this week has inflamed my rosacea. i would rather be high with you, feeling the smoke warm and fill my lungs, your arm around my waist, your lips on my skin, instead of here alone. pathetic.
08.18.18