Sometimes, I wonder if you really know what I mean.
Like, I could sit here with the fan on and wonder if you're really listening to what I have to say-or if you just always make an excuse as to why you can't. I remember one time, in imaginatory seances, I was talking to Britney and she didn't like the light on or how she looks in any shade of despair. I can't understand why the technical difficulties of life evoke a rather dark sense of belongingness-but neither can she. We both see our own color in the dark; I don't like who I am in the dark.