That this is just what I get for being so fucking sensitive to begin with. I would scream to you. Cry to you. Let you see me beg and plead.
Except it wouldn't be for anything. And when I was done you'd only be thinking what a fuckin sucka I am.
And we'll be having none of that. So I'll just say
I am Angelina's massive regret.
and leave it at that, okay chief?
I just took a crazy trip down memory lane through ten years worth of photographs. And sick as I was at some points I can see now how I maintained a sense of style through all of that shit that was pretty goddamn unmatched.
When I fall apart I do so beautifully. When I say goodbye I mean it. When I wake up tomorrow the walls will be back up again and I can forget that any of this bullshit ever mattered.
The sooner I get to sleep the sooner I can get that part done.
So I'm done.
Adieu.
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