I'm not sure if this will go in.
[Lili's gone and I'm bored. Come over! Let's get hiiigh]
[Why yes, let's] She's quick in response. The girl likes her weed. It makes my limbs tingle. She does, not the weed.
[Is it cool if Erin comes too?]
[Sure. Why not]
What do you call it, this feeling? It's like someone spilled wine on my shirt. It's not anger, non. Anger shouldn't come from something that can't be helped, and it rarely doesn't come from immaturity. Non, it's not anger I feel. Disappointment? Sure, but what a two dimensional word. It feels like air slowly escaping from that helium balloon of anticipation. Not a sharp pop, but a steady hiss.
Disillusionment.
The sad curtain coming down.
I don't think I'll write anything memorable in this lifetime. How can I? What's memorable anymore? What words hold weight nowadays? Precious few. I hope they remember that when I'm dead.
