Choking On The Smoke.

listening to: all along the watchtower - jimi hendrix.
reading: this screen.
watching: samurai jack on cartoon network.
eating: air.
drinking: air.




i sit here listening to my psychadelic funkt00nz, thinking about how i wish you were here with me. you always knew just how to /bob/ your head, how to s-h-u-f-f-l-e your feet, how to sway your arms. you were the rhythm to my soul.

i remember the day where i laid my head in your lap, and closed my eyes, almost asleep, but conscious enough to feel your breath, hear your heartbeat and smell your familiar scent.
i love the fact that you don't feel phased by still visiting me, even though you don't attend school.
you're the only person that i can't say i know from a function that i am involved in.

you're everything i could want in a person that means everything and nothing to me.
i sit up late at night, beside my books, looking at the words on the page, as they scramble around and begin to overlap one another. i probably still cared about him more than you.
but i don't think that's quite how it should be.

i remember how i felt about you. when you were here. when you left. when you came back.
i felt like you had ripped my heart out, and then you walked back into my life as if nothing had ever happened. now all the pieces are just floating around in the void in my chest.
you are such a bittersweet memory.

and the best part is;
you aren't imaginary.