the iv and your hospital bed

rough day. rough rough rough reality. curse being a writer, curse bending every song i hear to fit a tragic scenario because then, in my own scenario, i can't listen to my music without hearing my life in it, tragedy and all. fall out boy is banned today, and spotify can suck it too for starting my shuffle with golden.

my qpr has dissolved backwards, and we are friends again. and it isn't the end of the world, but it hurts like it is, and i know it'll still be fine. it's just day one, hour... 6. ish. so i'm allowed to go through all this, and it's allowed to hurt. i woke up crying today, as soon as i thought about it. and i know he's gonna read this, or he could, and i don't want to make it sound dramatic, but we. it is going to hurt, it is going to ache. this isn't as prose-y as i once hoped, for my dreamwidth-livejournal-pete wentz levels of aching dreams, but there's time for that later. now is the brain dump.

and maybe i do actually have to stop, before i start crying in class. i'm all out of witty outros and silly lines.