Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt, told you I'd let them go, and that I'll fight my corner. Maybe tonight I'll call you, after my blood turns into alcohol. No I just wanna hold you. 

It's been a dull month with a fiery inside where everything just melts together. I opened myself up to be hurt which was dumb of me but I think I'm recovering. I feel weaker though. Ugh.
Christmas is coming and I don't know what i want and I'm bad at ice skating and he's moved on. He just doesn't like you for you anymore and you couldn't keep him. And everyone is settling into their routines like hibernation and the days drag on the same every day and I feel bored and sad.
Like listen to Man Overboard in my room all night kind of sad. Like eat popcorn and watch Ed Sheeran music videos kind of sad. But when I try to feel better I take long drives and listen to 70's and 80's sassy black women singers. 
"You are not delicate. You are skinny dipping at 2 am; You are the reverberating echoes of a cuss word ricocheting off of steeply sloping sides of a mountain; you are snow on bare skin in the dead of winter; You are the heat of a wildfire, the rage of a storm. Delicate things are pretty. But you are not delicate. You are wild and lewd and unpredictable."

Your loss baby.
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