#116.
Has fucking just got out of Spotlight, a fucking craft store where I have been complaining my ass off for the past three to four hours. Knew I shouldn't have agreed to go with my aunties. They begged and I gave in. Never again. By the time I got out, I was so hungry I was the grumpiest beach alive. Like seriously; you have no freaking idea.

Asides from spotlight, I'd just like to shed a bit of light on last night's conversation with you. First in a few days, and you seemed all happy and chirpy and everything all right. Do you not care if we don't speak for days on end? Do you not care that nights when we don't talk, I curl myself up into a little ball and ask myself what I did wrong before I can get to sleep? Do you not care for reasons, even stupid excuses that would make me feel just a little bit better?

Maybe you don't. Maybe you don't give a fucking rats ass about me. Maybe I'm just holding onto something that's already broken.
But hey, you know what? As soon as I told you about it, you stayed, and got into the conversation. What the fuck. Manipulative bitch.
Fuck me, I'm going to regret calling you that later.

Hello, this is Tien. This blog is the remains of the unconventional cliches and angsty phrases of my teenage years. (Plus a new one every now and then)
I ♥ Phoenix, (500) days of summer, double entendres, unmade beds, autumn, Chopin, syncopated melodies, G7 chords and things that make me feel.

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