seventy-one percent. *

/

i ran across a written entry of mine from a few years ago. as i reached the last few words with my eyes, i literally fell to the foot of my bed. sometimes i forget just how painful i can be to myself.

//

i don't know if i'll ever get a grasp on who i am. it seems as i fill every question of you with my perfect answers.. i keep coming across the truths that tear them down.

you are not the ideal i made you out to be. you are not smart, kind, beautiful, reserved, reckless and charming. and with every word you speak and every movement you make - i begin to realize i never liked you at all.

and maybe the interest was never held all along, maybe i come to find that you are just as full of shit as i am. and since then, i sometimes even find pieces of your hair around my house.

i can't even look in the mirror without having to spit.