7.2 Seconds of Flipping.

I could probably write a twelve-point essay on why I feel the way I do towards you. You asked me one night: 'Why do you like me?'; I gave a fairly bullshit, easy-to-get-out-of answer, because I don't know how comfortable you'd be with handling the truth.

Maybe some day I can give you the real reasons. Some nights, I'm tempted to, but I always decide against it; I don't see the reason for it, since the feelings aren't reciprocated; it would just make things uncomfortable. But maybe one day.

It's like a fucking sauna in here. Stupid weather.

I'm entirely too restless. I need a new hobby.