To the girl who got away,
During our relationship we both were remarkably young and naive, am I right?
The sweet times surprisingly arose and shortly thereafter departed.
Altogether bitterness leftward was savored with nicotine and stretched months.
Every issue between us was enough to cover the cast of my broken heart and then some.
I am extremely disappointed in myself for the way I treated you, is the point.
A proper apology is vital if not, I suppose, subsequently necessary.
Sorry you had to put up with me, Dani.
The bum with a broken heart
Lost in the abyss of the masses, deliberately pondering through glasses.
Like windows compressed into megabytes, I desire an ideal function.
Our collective intelligence is growing with the design changes.
Streamlining an entirely organic culture, like color on a suture.
In Flutensville the faces are undistinctive and regularly come to leave faster than the seasons.
I arrived after a holistic journey on February the twentieth, and I am like usual still severely single.
These stiff conditions are perpetually back-dropping for the time being. The friendly ones once close
enough to hold conversations with are now distant. I am forced to communicate via Facebook but
only when wifi is available. Sometimes I get the impression the world is forcing me into infinite relentlessness.
Like it is time for a change or some shit, but here I am the foreigner again. Fuck this shit.
She is a perfect stranger who I do not know any longer.
I anticipated a love like we had observed in melodrama movies.
Neither of us speak to another the same way we used to.
This is a battle within the writer fighting for the truth.
I’ll bring the city within the rear-view and departure.
I keep a half tank of gas to rush away, and for the joyride.
I sang you a mess of songs while you lied in my bed.
I drew lines between the dots while you rested in my head.
Communication beckons an extensive vocabulary, a warm smile, and practically a mess of confidence.
Comparable to most teenagers though, I was unusually self-conscious during middle school and high school.
The masses generally viewed me as a minority, and I was constantly reminded of my overt apparent shyness.
I still oppose any belief regarding my introspective nature as a problem, and these days do not exist in an outcast-purgatory.
I do not either know exactly when this prevailing trend started, but I would still like to assume that it did not.
I suppose each and everyone different would have considered the fact that I liked being alone too presumptuous.
Glendale is a savage jungle were creatures feed on the weak, and unsuspecting victims lie in wait of antisocial mines.