eleven january
three : eighteen p.m.

there are more options, i'm sure. more strangers to turn into acquaintences, to turn into friends.

and you're all strangers, all of you. but you're not here.

i feel selfish. tell me to shut up. to deal with it. this isn't as important as i'm making it seem.

music : q and not u
literature : sailing alone around the room
fixation : chocolate soymilk