We Intersect. He Says He Thanks Every

Of Course He Freaked Me Out. Of Course It's Nothing To Do With Me. But None Of That Matters. He Loved Me And Now He Doesn't. I Was Everything To Him And Now I Am Nothing.

Your Own Love Story? Your Paramour May Have Had Lovers Before You. But No One Has Ever Loved Him The Way You Do. No One Has Ever Heard Music. Not The Way You Hear It. The Songs Are Beautiful Vampires, Asleep In Your Ipod, Coming Alive At Night, Aglow. You Can Have Them On Your Hours, Yours To Conduct. Music Shapes Us And We Shape It.

It Is Madness. And If You Don't Know Who You Are, Or If Your Real Self Has Drifted Away From You With The Undertow, Madness At Least Gives You An Identity. It's The Same With Self-loathing. You're Probably Just Normal And Normal-looking But That's Not A Real Identity, Not The Way Ugliness Is. Normality, Just Accepting That You're Probably Normal-looking, Lacks The Force Field Of Self-disgust. If You Don't Know Who You Are, Madness Gives You Something To Believe In.

If You Don't Know Who You Are, Madness Gives You Something To Believe In.

Are You Mine?” Yes. “are You Mine?” Yes. “are You Mine?” No. “no?” No. I Loved Being Yours. But Now I’m Mine, Which Is All I Ever Was, In The End.