yo, that's wack if i'm not the baddest


profile * old * mail * fucking sign it* or how about a nice note? you go forward / i'll go backwards


he traced all the scars on my body and asked how they got there and i told him about the times i fell off my bike, or skinned my knees. he showed me a scar on his wrists from when his father tried to kill him. i showed him the scar on the back of my neck from where i fell off a porch onto cement at a birthday party in the first grade. he smiled and i ignored his questions about the scars on my thighs.

oh gosh. these memories of you, will they always appear when i drive by the places we've been. i can picture the way you rearrange your sandwiches because you dont like the way the people at the restraunt put them or the way you always line the trashcan with newspapers, then a plastic bag, then paper. i miss you, miss you tons.

d-land