late promises
(2001-04-28) 10:50 p.m.
I should be doing something else. I clicked on "random" ginch and found my own diary. Wow. Its been more than 2 hours, and I still feel like I'm about to burst. I think I am. I can't stand food. I feel ugly. I feel dirty. I'm infested with Fiona Apple music. It's echoing. I don't care. Its late. It's saturday night. (sobs) Too many people read this.. too many people, the ghost of them, crawling all over without leaving a single print, a single trace. I know. I see it. Don't tell me that you don't know! I feel like I must write. I feel like this is my connection to the world. I'm going. My parents have abandoned the house. It's lonely. I'm lonely. I'm alone, in fact. I'm sick. I can't be. Never is a promise. What is a promise?
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