dear self destruction:
i miss you and all of your mutiple facets and all of the good times we had.
drinking 10 cups of coffee a day, chain smoking a pack in front of the web, toking and eating mr noodles. staying awake until all hours, 3 days later, so as to beat that fucking zuma game that we never did. remember that time that we streaked my hair black in a badly-ventilated area for 3 hours and then passed out in the shower, rinsing the dye out? and then we woke up with camo-like patches and the hot water had run out? that was awesome.
i’d like to say that i’ll see you again, soon. but i’m gonne be a mommy and if my mom ever taught me anything it’s that you and mommies don’t play well together.
but maybe, you can come to visit sometimes, and maybe you’ll change, cuz you really do like spending time with me, so instead of doing an eightball, we’ll get really crazy and like, SCRATCH A LOT OF LOTTO TICKETS. we’ll be mommy-rebels.
