I’m not okay.
I’m not happy with you. I don’t think you understand how not okay with the way you’ve treated me I am. Thinking about this conversation is giving me a headache.
Spent a few nights in a garage with carter singing the chino parts while I sang maynard’s, we shared a mic and a shitty little amp.
Nostalgia, all over your face.
I hate you.
I hate you all so much.
You will never compare to her, and I hate you for trying.
“What is life’s greatest illusion?”
Innocence, my brother.