I love the fact that every person disregarding me today will regret it tomorrow. I make love to that fact every goddamn night. It’s not bitterness or sorrow, just acknowledgement of the waste. Resources better used toward getting laid is funneled into drunken, post-midnight angst. People in-between great love affairs want to believe their drama is interesting. Truth is, that territory belongs squarely to the itinerant loners. Those of us dealing with perpetual rejection and apathy. We only know the love of cold, distant mothers. Continue reading Musings 2.7
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