She said that must be a song. I'm sure it is. Actually, there may be like a hundred fucking songs with the same fucking tittle.
And things just go through. And I sleep again, a few hours buy who asks for anymore, if we are dreaming awake. Nobody knows me, but everyone does. So intense. So real. So shame. So pride.
Being so tired + mad wheather = ill. Getting better.
Time is running out. Feeling fast, feeling slow. Feeling everything that deep so you could die of dreaming. I want to stay. Just hug me again.
but you're not going to read this
and even if you do
you wouldn't ever think there's something about you in ... me
let's do it again