Hello (love). I’m getting my life together this month. It’s the month and i fucking have to and I’m doing it. So fucking weak the last couple days tho it’s bullshit. Just want to sleep. Sleep and read and lose myself in silly little fantasies. Sometimes, not very often at all, but once in a rare while, reading will feel the way it felt for me as a kid, as a teen. A real escape, an obsession. It leaks colours and flavours and scents into my life. Cherry and something dark. I understand things about myself, but i also don’t. I simplify myself to myself because it’s easier, or at least i mostly think it is. Yeah. I dunno. I don’t always know how to use my voice, or how to use it for good, or what good is. Every word is the string for a light and the spring for a trap. Name things with caution, say “i love you” often.