thirteen march
eleven : twenty-seven p.m.

i'm so goddamn tired of you. the way you drag your feet. how you never think about anyone but yourself.

i want to move into an apartment downtown. with a boy who will be my friend forever, and care when i'm sad, and keep me warm in the winter. and the boy back home wouldn't be jealous, because he'd know that apartment boy was just a friend (even though we'd always kiss each other goodnight).

music : "photobooth" by death cab for cutie
literature : catcher
fixation : everything