I love surprises. I may not seem like a material kind of person, but I like to think that the little things matter.
I get incredibly frustrated at big things that I can't handle. It's hard, being me. But everyone says that, don't they?
When there's something I can't take care of, I crawl inside of myself and try to find a way to release it. It used to happen in writing. Now it just happens in tears.
I'm heartbroken. I'm lonely. I'm just a friend.
And the problem here is that the person who could fix it doesn't give a shit.