...as i reclined on the velvet floor...

It all comes back to you, in the end. But look, I'm not alone, see? Despite the apparent perfectness of D, my girl admits she goes back too. Go back, go back, this is tired.

I want to be the investigative journalist into your heart. Like Christiane Amanpour, conduct the interviews, get the answers. I'll even go straight to the source, if I have to. Travel to far away lands, to figure you out and convince, convince, convince. I want the WHY's, the WHY NOT's. Like in the article I laughed at yesterday, but haha the jokes on me because the last three paragraphs? That was me, my emotional vomit. I really did that?

I really did.

"...an artist who smoked alone in a corner. Although my car was leaving in half an hour, the driver would have to wait."