they call it a wasteland, baby (moved from livejournal)

i don't love you i don't love you i don't love you but i'm listening to relationship of command by at the drive-in and i can't get you off my mind. 

i think that when you were lying on the floor of your basement, right before you asked me to leave, was when i thought that i might like to kiss you for the first time. 

i showed you lexington. you didn't like it, but you were polite. "it's fine. very 4/4."

you showed me one-armed scissor. i looked at your mouth. you noticed, and then convinced yourself that you didn't. 

"when they play this live, you can barely recognize any of the parts. it's just unintelligible noise."

when i ask you to recommend me music, you always make these hour long queues of casiopea and bowie and masayoshi tanaka that i wish i knew how to appreciate like you did. they're the only tiny somethings you make just for me, so i take screenshots of them and i pretend you make secret playlists about me when you've been alone to think for too long too.

i don't love you i don't love you i don't love you but i'd follow you anywhere. i do follow you everywhere. i wish you would tell me everything. i wish this little mosaic of you in my head was something closer to who you really were.

you once said that the most romantic thing two people could do was commit suicide together. if you wanted me to, i would.