It's fucking ridiculous, but somehow the taste of an over-cooked egg
on toast makes me miss you. I get sentimental. Then the whole
fliparoo thing happens with my heart, and I'm thrown into a miserable fit of love and loathing. I suppose at least this is progress, in a way, for me. I actually felt brave enough this time to let somebody the fuck in for once. Too bad it was you.
.
