I've reached an uninteresting point of my life where I sit in the bus and look forward to reaching home, because then I can lay in bed to daydream about a (super minuscule and ridiculous) crush.
I'm typing this whilst seated in 518, next to a working lady whose face I dare not look at.
[also] the dude made me fall in love with things which were always under-appreciated; and forget from time to time. I'd like to keep it that way by living with this sole memory that is near perfect. It fills me up with fuss just thinking about it.
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