we're all blading on thin ice and doing mad stunts at that. proceed with caution.
spent the evening with the accidental shrink who probably wasnt sober 80% of the time, but i ain't complaining. we all fuss over the same inconsequential things that probably will not eventually be considered little nothings because a rolling stone gathers moss. and as mascara bleeds a blackened tear (props to franzferdinand), i cant quite recall the reason why, or how, or what.
we are so weightless it scares me how we float. i suppose we just want to get what we give. is that too idealistic a wish? how tragically alarming if it should be because i so love attuning myself with reality and its terribly hateful punitive nature.