Fuckshitcrapshitfuck.
And yes. There's a fuckshitcrapshitfuck situation.
I think I may like a guy.
Fuck.
And here I thought I was too cool to like a guy who wears brands and listents to electronic music.
It's the most intense... everything. Even the conversations' the best I've had in ages.
I hate being soft to someone. No one can know, especially him. I have to promise myself to be cool, calm and collected. Erase his number and pretend I haven't thought about him at all if he ever writes again.
I'm so not ready for this.
I don't think I'll ever be.
The memory and the lessons of ''shit happens, things end, it's painful, pointless and agonizing'' - Is still pretty damn branded in my short term memory.
Besides, we could never really like each other. He's a popular socialite and I'm a pessimistic social pariah.
It must be the sex-haze. It has to be.
Crapshitfuck.
