now everything's imaginary, especially what you love

When it's late, I get brazen.  Things matter less.  Or more.  I think it's more.  Pride matters less.  There's more at stake; the day is almost over, and we only have so many days.
I am disappointed that we will probably not be friends now.  We should be.  You're a real person and there aren't too many of those left these days.  Everyday I find out more people aren't real--they're just pretending to be real.  If they would just stop pretending, the would be real.
I'm not very real.
I usually forget I exist.
Do I even exist?
Descartes says I do.
I don't like really like Descartes.  He focuses too much on God, and I think we all know how I feel about that.  Or maybe we don't.
Well, "I love you Jesus Christ.  Jesus Christ, I love you, yes I do."
Except not.
It's more like, "There are no grounds for going beyond a scientific explanation of reality and no sound reason for believing anything but our sense experience. A clear intellect, close attention to detail and a little scientific knowledge will expose religion as superstitious bosh. God does not exist."
My views on religion are much more like the latter.  In fact, they are gosh-darn identical.  The first one is very catchy though.  I wish I was the King of Carrot Flowers.

I want to be everyone's friend.  Or at least until I get sick of them.  I only get sick of people when I find out they aren't real.  Being fake is fine if you acknowledge that you're not real.  That makes you real again.  You are real because you know that you really aren't real.  I guess that makes me real then.  That feels like bragging.  And now I am fake again.  And now I'm real.  It's a vicious cycle, really.
Real.  Fake.  Real.  Fake.  Real.  Fake.
It could go on forever.
Things like that make my head spin.  I will never know where it ends.  Not knowing makes my head spin.  I wish I knew why you stopped wanting to talk to me.
I don't know why I am thinking about this so much lately.  Maybe it is because the time to fix it is coming to an end.  You can still fix it.  Just say hi.  It wouldn't be a big deal to me.  In fact, it would actually make sense to me.
I do not understand.  I do not understand.  I do not understand.
If you want to let me know why, I would really appreciate it.  I'm not mad.  I wonder if you think I am mad.  I am really, really not.  I'm not sad, either.  Just confused.  I don't usually get mad.  I sometimes get sad.  I only want to understand.  It is only when I understand and wholeheartedly do not agree that I get mad or sad.  That doesn't happen often.  Most of the time people's reasons make sense.
Victor's don't.  He's a narrow-minded jerk.
I am sure yours make sense.  You said you were indecisive like me.  Maybe it has something to do with that.
If you couldn't tell already, I get fixated on things that don't make sense to me very easily.  I am truly sorry that I do not understand why you do not want to know me.  I really wish you would let me know.  Or want to know me again.  I wonder if you just thought I was easy.  I wouldn't be surprised if that was the only reason why you wanted to "know" me.  I wouldn't really mind either.

I guess I should just say something to you directly.  I wish I felt like I could, but it was you that decided to stop, so I don't feel right trying again.  I feel like it's never my decision for anything to stop.



Standing on a doorstep full of nervous butterflies waiting to be asked to come inside. Just come inside.
so many sequins.  so pretty.  in lots of ways.