| things weren't real to you. they were just raw material for you to reshape to tell a story you liked better. you could never just listen to a boy play guitar. you'd have to turn it into a poem, make it all about you. (janet fitch - white oleander) |
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| (...and marilyn said fuck you) x getting tarted up. be back soon-ish x :: hatemail :: whingecore :: my stupid face :: |