a lot of the time ppl tell me i "always have a story" to tell and idk if they're being sarcastic or if they really just mean i always have a story to tell maybe its like i just love to overanalyze situations as a coping mechanism for my anxiety so anyways there is this period of time where i was secretly living with him at some business dude boarding house airbnb type deal place. i sat in the room all day except to pee, shower, and go to eat or grocery shopping with him. it was my choice; u kno, being an idiot dumb head in love following ur stupid ugly heart everywhere. found rigs in the drawers my first night there. it wasn't bad but i think maybe it contributed to the depression. staying inside a room all day like I'm basically back at my parent's house but fuck dude every time he came home it was like fuck daddys home and everything would melt into happiness like smoking weird ass shit off tinfoil sitting on the rooftop onto of a soft purple target blanket and feeling so at home as if it would last forever