subject: Jun. 29, 2002 (8:51 pm)

he wasn't so devoid. he wasn't so empty. he liked latin, history and had a book of physchological studies that were interesting to us. and you called me a genius writer and a wonderful individual, how do you just leave? it's not better, it's not better, it's not better...it's all my fault. sorry, sorry, sorry. it seems you are the only thing i can write about. the only thing i can think of. what can i do?

'when i'm alone and you're in someone else('s room), would you please save some kisses for me?' but not even that...not if you don't want to...not if it will destroy everything...just i miss it when it was fine. please, please, please. i sound so fucking weak. but i finally realized 'self-loathing isnt sexy'. infact, it drives you away.

we could drink tea and read book. forever and ever. just don't touch, it's to fragile now. alway.

gaugh, 'please don't let it end like this'

you know i exist. you can't forget that i exist. i don't think you can. i don't thin you can.

i am so weak, subjected to begging. i won't fall in love again. out of boredom, or really i don't know. does it matter? just know i won't do it.

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