I wish I could wish you well. Hope the best for you. Hope you get happy and . smile all the time . .. . and stuff. But I don't think you deserve it. And I don't deserve you. I deserve better. Yet I still wonder. You can't stop wondering when you've never talked about it with the person you're wondering wonders about. And now I'm just talking jibberish, because I can. Everything's possible, eventually. You. Know. Like. One day millions of roses could drop out of the sky and fall perfectly into your hand, in a grasping position, like you were waiting for that rose to drop right into your hand. Yet secretly you had no idea in hell such a magical thing was possible. And now you know it is. But it isn't. It never happened. Really. But. ... .. . it could. You know.. yup.
I could be a romantic. I decide not to. I have the choice not to decide to. So I decide not to decide to decide to be one. I'd rather dwell in miniscular issues, that wouldn't count as issues in another country, say a Third World one. Sink into a hole, blackness drowning you in sadness. The emo stuff, you know. I decide not to do anything about it either. Because it's easier that way. Bye.