Would I be happier if I cam here every morning? Surrounded by the Youngs and the oldies and the vape users?

Would I be happier if you texted me every morning that you loved me? Remember you used to do that thing long time ago, then you became a girl.

My hollow stomach cannot stop thinking of you. But it is not you I am thinking it is someone else. It is someone with a good English accent and a perfect phone manner. Someone that knows how to cross their legs and eat a pain au chocolat and graduate from school next year.

My foot is broken but mostly I am worried about my heart. Cause this is too much pressure to bear, too much pressure to worry that it has to be dramatic or forceful all of the time.

They gynaecologist suggested that I do not have polycystic ovaries anymore. Where are my cysts? Have they abandoned me?

Have they gone gone gone with not return? I feel left alone and I cannot say anything to complain cause apparently that's a good thing.

Fuck the storytelling. Fuck the funny storytelling. I just don't want to feel reliable anymore. I don't want to feel reliable. I want to roam around like a bitch, a big bitch in the streets and carry my left foot with me Aron Aron