i’m always a mess. i can never keep my own secrets. i laugh too hard at stupid things. my favorite songs can make me cry. i always watch for 11:11, but i miss it more than i notice it. i live in the past, in the memories i have with the people i love. i hate thinking about reality and i’m so homesick that it’s not even funny. but not homesick in a missing my house kind of way… maybe it’s more like heartsick for all the things that i can’t get back. it’s hard for me to define myself… i guess i’m just a cliche–the girl who loved too hard and didn’t get anything in return. i don’t want to be the heroine in some tragic love story, i just want the one person who has never given me a second thought.