I have a feeling I'm going to wait all night for another lost cause. Or maybe it isn't lost at all and nothing is different. I don't know why I still hope, like one day it can all be erased or something. Does it mean anything to forgive someone who has hurt you the most? It won't change the world, even though I'd really like it to.
Sometimes I wonder how I end up in the places I do, and somehow it always seems like I find the right way, or at least some side-road that ends up somewhere pleasant. I don't know.
I'm only trying to think of things to say.
I don't remember the significance of the big dipper except that it's as far away as you are and as much as I long to touch it again, I know I probably never will.
I truely am sorry for a lot of things, but I guess it doesn't really make a difference.
I am still waiting.
I do a lot of waiting.
Always waiting for people to come around.
But I cling to the hope that maybe just once, somebody does.
I would be the happiest person alive if that person were you, but I find it hard to chip the ice off my heart long enough to hope this is the case.
My insides are still freezing and rotten and blue.
And tonight the wound throbs while another boy pokes at me with a stick like a revolting piece of roadkill discarded on the side of the road.
Maybe that's too harsh, or maybe if I draw bloody pictures for everyone to see someone will believe me when I tell them I miss them.
I don't want to be loved, no. I have used up all of that emotion and no longer desire to have it replenished. I just want someone to remember who I am.
I feel like painting pictures across the sky, but somehow I know this is impossible, and as pretty as it seems like it would be, I can't really figure out why I want to in the first place. I could paint the world black, just for a day, and this is what I've seen lately. I lay awake and stare at what would be my ceiling, save for the darkness, and dream with my eyes open until the early hours of the morning.
There is a sour taste in the back of my mouth that I have tried to quench away these past few days but nothing I seem to do can wash away the acidity bubbling away in my stomach. From worry, from anger, from confusion, from sadness, but most importantly from you.
And "you" is a funny word because I use it so frequently. You are a lot of people. You're Logan, you're my other half, you're Chloe, Darren, my parents... you're anonymous and that's why you don't understand.
I grow tired of speaking in these tongues. But they sound so magnificent when my days are ruined.
Maybe one day I'll reach a verdict and make a lasting decision filled with words that do truly mean what I want them to and I can stop writing the same thing again and again and again and.
I want you to be the one because you tried to make sense of it, and you're the only one that has.
The things I said had feeling, and you felt it. You still make metaphors and pictures out of our memories and it still amazes me.
"Hope" is another funny word.
And though my love has run out, my hope will never be depleted, and what a fool I am.
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Goodnight.
I'm feeling: 
drained