I have wanted to kill myself a hundred times, but somehow I am still in love with life.
It was one of those humid days when the atmosphere gets confused. Sitting on the porch, you could feel it: the air wishing it was water.
I decided on you, don’t you get that? I decided on you. I don’t want to go fucking other people and then walk around feeling thrilled and then sad, or empty, or whatever. I like the smell of your hair, and I like the sound of your voice, and I fucking decided on you.
I have scars on my hands from touching certain people.