Being in love is like being crumpled up inside and feeling yourself cave into baser instincts.
And you feel yourself let go of any real sense of reality, or what is proper, and what is good for yourself.
I'd lost sense of time.
It's like waking up. I've wasted five months on this boy, and likely will waste at least a few more before he jetsets off to Berkeley or wherever the hell the world takes him. And I'll cry when he leaves, just as I'm crying now when he hasn't even left yet.
And I hate myself for being so damn weak.
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1 comment:
...definitely, definitely get that book. It'll help.
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