two-hundred-and-ninety-eight.
Forced smiles underneath the brittle, frozen light
No proof that you're alive
Cold fingers find the curve below your tired eyes
No comfort in familiar places, not this time
You hold it deep inside
~ Jars of Clay
well this is dumb and unoriginal. And it was super cold. It might look better in lightbox though, who knows.
My brother just told me that I don't have a life. That I only think about pictures anymore. Is that an insult?
Oh, and he told me he wished I was a guy so he could "punch me or rip my head off or something" interesting...
I have to get going now.
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