i love finding tidbits that i wrote about a boy two and a half years ago.
some hopeful,
some not.
it’s hard to fathom that he is mine,
even after nine months.
if you want to find the biggest asshole at a party, leave an acoustic guitar out
(via quesadillaexplosion)
i have a photo
that no one has seen
of a boy
who is no longer living.
i didn’t know him at the time.
i never knew him.
i never will.
i keep it
because
he looks more alive in the photo
than i have ever felt.
inconsistency
the spells of bathe-less days
only to met by ones of obsessive cleanliness