I miss you, I'm going back home to the west coast. I wish you put yourself in my suitcase.
I'm really having trouble with being who I am at the moment / as of late. I've been trying to find it in books and underground songs, but the wires don't connect right with anything. the blue goes with the red when I want it to go with the blue, but when the blue goes together, the red misconnects with a yellow. I've been counting calories lately and I feel a little stupid for that. I'm getting reassurance from my friends when they'll give it up, but they have lives and I understand. I've been having to put off my plans for a lot of people lately but I guess I'm okay with that. I can't concentrate on anything and I can see people's dissapointment in me. I called the 1800suicide hotline jsut so I could talk about my problems but I lied about them all. it didn't get a thing off my chest, only worked to build it up. I can't wait for november when I can feel safe. I'm just so confused with this whole life around me.
"Oh, man," said Dean to me as we stood in front of a bar, "Sal, we got to go and never stop till we get there."
"Where are we going, man."
"I don't know but we gotta go."