é;

time passes. even when it seems impossible. even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. it passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. even for me.

add. msg. cmmnt.

i'm a realist, i'm insatiable, and the only way to vaguely get along in love is to like the other slightly less than you get in return.
there's a glitch in my mind and i'm pretty sure i will never be fully content with what and who i am.
i'm looking for home.

i don't use myspace much, facebook me: equi anne.

drivebydrivebydriveby.