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self indulgence [Apr. 26th, 2013|09:51 pm]
If i could only write poetry. I could make it all feel different. I could make it all look beautifully tragic. I could make someone swoon and day dream and wonder what could have been, but i have nothing to say and it's all just words, words are all i have had and words failed me and words made promises and threats and painted pretty pictures and hinted at things to come that would be full of lust, hope and laughter only to have them all rot and turn venomous. But words are empty promises and easily ignored when the time washes the allure out of them.

I woke up and it all felt like it had always felt, familiar.. everything was right in the world and a phone call would solidify that and then the reality of the situation crashed in and i knew no phone call would ever feel like that again.