THOUGHTS.

I cleaned my room out today. Strange things happen when I clean my room. Such as finding things you don’t necessarily need/want to find. You’ve kept it under all this crap for so long that when you really take the time to gut it and examine you’re kind of stuck in some weird parallel universe that shipped you back to wherever that thing had you to begin with. I found movie tickets to Dear John, polaroids of my first fish, letters from exes, old posters, notebooks I often took my anger out on, presents from lovers that I couldn’t bring myself to give back, old band shirts, a thing I made in school when I was 4 years old. It’s endless. And I hate it. I hate having things that bring me back but I could never trash them, because no matter how many trash cans you put it in it won’t be gone. I hate how something so seemingly insignificant has so much power. You can never stop being human. Screw it.