This used to be a funhouse

Crazy week. Being busy is one thing, not even having time for the basic things, like meeting Justine, is another. Rawr. Always so dramatic. 1) Stained with guilt and regret. Every few months it just comes back, doesn't it? I guess you missed what little chance you had in the disgustingly short time that I was... Okay no there's no way that was ever going to happen. So what if you want me. Skank. My god, I am so. fucking. stupid. Did I really exchange everything for one selfish moment of fleeting excitement? Still paying for the cheap thrill. 2) I still want to be sitting inside your fucked up head. As torture. I can't believe they survived more than we ever will. It astounds me, thinking about how we were once so high and haughty on our pedestal. We were infinite. Were. The tragic difference is that they didn't fuck it up and around. Oh well. Maybe it really was more of my fault than I remember. 3) Pessimism aside, you brighten up the room. And while it may just be a tiny corner as of now, it still appears less dim. But as usual, I find myself questioning everything. This need to be needed is ridiculous. What will become of it/me when my life shifts back to.. the east? All these opinions bombarding left right centre north. Uncertainty. Sigh. I sorely miss the life I used to have.

Your taunting smirk behind the glass