Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s looking for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours.
I’m so angry I’m sweating.
Some days it’s like the universe wants me to text you. Like the universe keeps bringing you up and shoving you in my face and telling me that I should. But I still don’t know how I feel
I’m addicted to pain, I’m addicted to unhappiness. Why else would I go looking for this?