#is relative

Eleven failing to do interpretive dance of the time

Hugo Camarillo

My email. I am finally free of the damnable books of romance.

Three hours online goes by in an eyeblink, but 30 seconds waiting for the microwave is an eternity. 

Sometimes I feel like certain things aren't meant for me. Like being able to take care of myself or love (especially love). I always try my damndest - my absolute hardest, and either nobody sees that or people take it for granted. I don't know if it's me, maybe I did something in a past life and so I don't deserve nice things in this one. Maybe it's a family curse because my parents fucked up. But either way, sometimes I SWEAR it feels like the universe purposefully makes a point to show me - "hey, you...you there... FUCK YOU." And then goes on its merry way. I don't want to try this whole love thing anymore. I'm not very good at it, and it just goes to show that I can try my absolute best and at the end of the day I won't be believed. I can't do this. Some people are good at this, really good and it's amazing and beautiful. But I don't think I'm one of them. I just don't think I was meant to be. There's not been a shred of evidence in my life to convince me otherwise. And maybe that's why it's so hard for me to care about anything lately. Because I know the truth now.