And now.

I came home too early from work.

I saw things I should not have to have ever seen.

I miss cooking dinner.

I miss not hating myself for trusting someone who never really loved me.

I am tired of being wrong.

I am tired of people.

I am tired of hating myself for it.

He is lucky, he knows what he has done, and why he must be alone.

But I don't get that luxury, all I know is I had loved, and been there and did my best.

And it made no difference.

I'm the stupid cunt of a girl who sucked it up.

And I sucked it up, I humiliated myself.

I was a fucking idiot.

And I hate myself for it.


Thats where I am, thats where I live thats my fucking street.

Gin anyone?