I DON’T KNOW. IT’S JUST LIKE, I CAN’T BE AS FUNNY OR AS CLEVER AS YOU WANT ME TO BE. NOT ALL THE TIME. NOT EVEN MOST OF THE TIME, REALLY.
I GET SO NERVOUS THAT YOU’LL STOP LIKING ME AND THEN I’LL BE ALONE IN MY EMPTY APARTMENT LISTENING TO ALANIS MORRISETTE AND EATING TRISCUITS AND CRYING, ALL AT THE SAME TIME.
FOREVER, PROBABLY.
FOREVER ALONE.













