Yesterday I thought about those dead sunflowers that I never got to see. I think I would've liked them more. But it was so exact, everything that happened. To me, I was robbed of a moment I would've glorified in the gruesome way I'd always insisted. But otherwise, dead flowers simply weren't good enough to be seen by me. It was excusable to me as sweet, but I was disappointed either way. I was always so disappointed.
There are so many fucking things I refuse to talk about. It's terribly overwhelming in the long run.
