today one of my professors told me that one of the kennedy’s had a piece of paper he kept with him every day that read: “Do something each day that you’re afraid of” and i’m going to do just that every day from now on, and i’m going to write about it. i’m really tired of my own boundaries,

but this goes out to someone who has needed it for like two years:

you laugh harder at my jokes and compliment me the most, introducing me as your “most brilliant person i know” and its so flattering when you do it that i end up choking and not being able to display my wit, or wordplay, or whatever it is that my fan base is so excited to tell me. thanks for that, 

its things you do like that, that make me want to write pop-punk songs like a crush in 7th grade, sappy lyrics, bad rhymes, overly obvious puns that are so cheesy you can’t tell if they’re for serious or intentional.

i keep finding myself thinking that i still find you intriguing after two years. almost three, jesus, but i lose interest in people quick, especially girls, especially. but i find myself making a fool of myself, like a performance artist doing a showcase for one person, where i’ll step out of myself and start annoying people, acting like the cliche stereotypical liar that we make fun of in the corners when we’re talking.

i want to know your favorite neutral milk hotel song and why. i want you to tell me what the lyrics make you think of, and how different and alien it is to my interpretation, even though we both belt the lyrics when we listen.

i have this conviction that we’d travel really well together even though i’ve never been on a roadtrip with anyone but my family for longer than a day or two at a time. i want you to show me the entire dirty south, the red sands and the lush whatever there is out there where it isn’t dry. but i realize this probably won’t work out because isn’t that what you ran from? what i’m fascinated by. what i need to see is what you’re sick of, but that’s how it always works. i’m over it.

i really want to know your life plans, i don’t know what you’ve thought about in the few years. 

you’re usually one of the first people i tell my secrets to, the secrets that i want to keep secret from everybody, but really in the back of my mind i am totally just trying to blow them up into the biggest deal ever, while saying i’m not at the same time. 

want to invade your journal i know you hide from the world so much that i can watch your eyes and see the words forming in the air around you.

why are you with such crap, that’s the worst part. you really are THAT girl that every single guy we know, hell every guy that comes into contact with you knows that you are the hottest girl at the party, you always bring the most raw emotions out of me, and you don’t make fun of me for it, for fucking up, for being a weirdo.

i guess i just want the fleeting feeling you radiate onto me on overdrive.

i really like showing people music that aren’t aware of all the genere’s out there and blowing their mind. like when jocks finally found out about animal collective, i love to give people the gift of music.

i’m the opposite of a hipster that way, i want to spread the love as far as i can. i didn’t do my homework and i feel bad, guilty, like a waste. 

i just don’t get why you surround yourself with such waste, you’re so much better than everyone around you and you know it, you hate it, you tell me about it, but it never seems to amount to anything.

fuck this. this sucks. tell me how much this sucks so i can rewrite it better jesus this was really gay and sappy and cliche and repetetive and boring.

sorry.