i’m always trying to dig pens into my veins, hoping soon my pulse will be words rather than sighs. i say i can’t be around you but the truth is i hate your guts, and i wish you were more sorry. but i can’t keep wishing on fallen eyelashes, because all i’ll end up with is dust in my eyes. there are some people i’d walk to the edges of the earth for, but i never know if i’m supposed to turn around and walk right back. most things can be traced back into an algorithm, but i don’t know the value of pretend i love you’s.