ten january
eleven : oh-one p.m.

"on the way home, i, for some reason, i thought about him. one night, we stayed out til 4:30, just driving, and listening to cds, and rolling windows down, and trying to get lost. the summer isn't as hot at night. i don't know why i thought of him. i keep crying."

i never know what to do. i'll never know what to do.