Expect to keep falling, but never trip over the same thing twice.
I need a little night light, so I can read my books at night.
Sometimes I forget why I am angry. Maybe because being angry for the 100th time means I’ll soon have to admit that I’m not compatible. And then I’ll have to let it go. I wake up in the morning and I can’t recall. I look at people and I can’t remember how they’ve hurt me but I remember to be hurt. I feel so betrayed by myself.
How the hell does “Hills Like White Elephants” by Ernest Hemingway symbolize abortion?? I secretly hate literature class. So fucking pretentious.