but its not about you, or anyone, its not something someones done to me, its just that sometimes i run out of love to give and it just feels like the party has gone too long and sometimes days are too hard and nights come too sharp and i think, "maybe today, today seems a day to die," but i never do it, and I'm always happy i don't, but i still with things would change, and they never do, and i always worry they never will.

“I like to pretend that sometimes” I said. He looked at me, in a way as though asking why or how without the desire to physically say the words.
“What I mean is that sometimes I like to pretend you were my first, instead of your older boy summer romance cliche. I don't know why though. Maybe I want to keep a bit of you with me when you leave. I think that when I’m old, or even just in college I’ll tell people how I lost my virginity to my bestfriend and how special it was. Maybe after I tell enough people I’ll even start to believe it too. Not that Michael isn't sumptuous or anything. Maybe its because when I tell people that story I’ll leave them with piece of you, and you’re great.”
He snapped the last of the bowl and kinda just sat there with a weird expression. It wasn't confusion or even melancholy. He seemed upset over something. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he said.
“It won’t always be.”
I didn't feel sad, or happy, or angry with the silence. It was cold that night and we both kind of just sat there looking at the bright Los Angeles skyline we were so used to. He packed another bowl but I was done smoking for the night. Perhaps he didn't realize I’d been dying to tell that to him for a while. Killing myself thinking about him. Maybe I loved him, then, truth be told, I didn't know. I felt empty. Like I’d just thrown up everything I’d eaten that day. My head was as blank as the smoke coming from his mouth. He slowly put his arm around me and kissed me that way you see in movies. The way your friends sometimes talk about but you don’t really understand until it happens. He then put the **** down and fell on my lap. I quietly ran my fingers through his hair. Then he said, “Did I ever tell you about this fantastic girl whose virginity I took in the schools parking lot?”

But like the sun he turns her to ashes, for she didn't belong in his world.

We blame the starts, or society, or the son of God, because its just to hard to realize and acknowledge we're ****** people who sabotage our own happiness, for no good ******* reason.

Oh God, oh God, oh God!
What have you done to me? You've denied me of my own body.
I am not in control. I am suddenly dependent on someone who will inevitably break my heart.
Don't break my heart. Why have you don't this?
At the end of the day all I have is me. All anyone has is themselves,
and you've made that not enough for myself anymore.
At the end of the day,
lying in bed I am not enough,
because suddenly I want you,
need you next to me,
and its torture.

And although I dont know what love is,
I know what it isn't.
Love isn't lying in your bed crying,
feeling like you've just let someone roll over you,
and break you.
It isn't feeling not good enough
After giving someone a ******* as they lie next to you,
asleep.
And although nothing is different from yesterday,
you're better,
because although I don't know how something should be,
I know how it shouldn't.