In which I am a melodramatic sod. Because I wish to be, it seems.
Why do I do this to myself? Honestly. You’d think I’d know better by now.
But I don’t, apparently.
Ten years of slicing myself open, dumping in the salt, chasing it with lime, and being surprised at the burn, every time.
Yeah, that’s one skill you haven’t lost: the ability, unknowingly, to make me feel like an idiot.
One lesson I haven’t learned.
And I know, at some level, if not at them all, it’s on me. You’re good. You’re happy. You’re whatever the fuck you’ve always been.
It’s like asking the tides to run backwards, thinking that things will change. Or watching Chris Reeve turn back the Earth.
Let’s face it: for me, talking to you like throwing my voice to the wind and expecting it to reach you in the past.
Resolution: time to stop wasting my breath.
cute girl discount 