This is a letter to the "I don't give a fuck" part of the story. The part of the story where I don't even know if you are reading this shit, where you act like the word feedback is not even in your vocabulary, where I'm the one connecting all the sentences in our conversations and all you do is show a total lack of animosity about everything I say or do.
Cool, what do you want me to say? "fuck it"? Ok, been there. Even better, I'll pretend I don't care, just like you do. Most likely is that you are not pretending anything, I'm fine with that as well by the way. Awesome, you have the upper hand, I don't need it. You may think I'm angry, but trust me I'm not, I'm just passing by, like you were.
I could use this paragraph to write something deep and personal about this whole situation and all of the ways that I coul've done whatever comes to your mind in order to achieve a certain degree of attention but I might as well leave it alone and stretch my fingers for the next lines which, make no mistake, are directed at you.
For this moment on you belong to the suitcase of things I screwed up by getting there too late, too soon, or too fast (or all of them). I'm just gonna take the little dignity, good intentions, honesty, and all that funny little things that you help me pull out of a blender to stitch together for you and I'm gonna walk away from everything, even thought I don't want to.
At this point I should say something about the many wonders I hope you encounter in your lifetime, but remember the "fuck it" of the second paragraph? I'm sorry, I never said it. I'm sorry I cut your drawing in half and I hope you find someone to eat ice cream for lunch with.
written: 9/12/2011 (not that it matters)
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