“Put out your cigarette, my love, you’ve been alone too long
And some of us are very hungry now to hear what it is you’ve done that was so wrong…”
Note to self: you either care too much or you don’t give a fuck! A perfect no balance! If you will come to think it was a cliche to start writing in this manner, it probably was, but you don’t care. The minute you stopped wearing your pain around your neck, like a character you vaguely remember, you stopped giving a fuck; but you learned where the fucks should be given. You also stopped explaining!
I told Olives it feels like counterfeit, writing anonymously. It feels like putting another tongue in my mouth. It feels like the sort of crazy fiction written on a side of a road, with emotions dripping down the dirty sidewalk.
He said I don’t need to worry, we are all aliens.