i would die alone and have my carcass be eaten by vultures before i talk to chatgpt like it's my boyfriend

I’ve had this queued since Christmas

every august without fail is like i will give you some of the most beautiful golden summer moments of your life but also you will be thinking about childhood and loss constantly. it will always be either 5pm or 2am

some days it’s just *reads a single line of poetry and starts sobbing* *loses self in nostalgia* *endlessly writes emotional notes app poetry* *looks self in the mirror and asks for forgiveness*

there is no audience to perform for, there is no approval, no admiration to attain. there is no role worth playing, there is no one to convince. let it go