nine november
seven : thirty-four p.m.

you just keep on using those pretty words on me. we'll see what happens.

"maybe we're both ghosts. you know? but not the sad, dead sort of ghost. more the sort of ghost that i write about. real people. real living people, but people who can't figure out what it will take to make us feel alive and happy. not dead, and not sleeping, but not really awake and living, either."