Nothing I write is ever gonna make me feel okay about it.
The sad thing is I still think about you.
I don’t know if I miss you or if I even wanna see you but I think about you. I still hate it when you cross my mind. It’s such a bittersweet sadness. Leave.
Forever not texting you what’s on my mind because I know you don’t care.
Just love me and let me roll our blunts and cook and fuck me all the time.
That’s really not that much to ask for.