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we are taking walks around the hearts and homes we will never own

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Suddenly started thinking about Pete Wentz tonight and was on a kick of stuff about/by him when I decided that i'd at the very least start reading his whole LiveJournal.

Now you may be thinking, "how are you already obsessed with Pete Wentz and you haven't even read the LiveJournal?!" Well it just goes to show that when you connect with someone's writing so much, a few lines are all you need B-) (/hj. otherwise i sound pretentious as shit).

Now I've read a few posts/paragraphs/etc. posted elsewhere, I honestly didn't even know if LiveJournal was still up or if I'd have to use the Wayback Machine or something (is that even still up? I know there was some court ruling that has the possibility of shutting down the Internet Archive...), so I do understand the general vibe. But idk. I love this man. And if any of you met me in person you'd never believe it. I look much, much more Patrick Stump, that's for sure. But I supposedly exert confidence and put-together-ness (which I've been told is why people are hesitant to be close with me, though, what a cop-out that is,) that reads not even Pete Wentz, but just. Leading man. Always prepared. With a tinge of Southern charm. The kind of faggot your father would shake hands with. I think if me and Pete Wentz circa 2005-2007 could Freaky Friday body swap for a little while, we both would. He'd revel in the stability, I'd revel in the chaos. This is all a very irrational assumption that I would know what he wants, but, I'm not often delusional. Let me have this.

Something that strikes me about Pete Wentz's (Pete's? Mr. Wentz's? I'm just going to keep saying the full name...) writing is just how... romantic it is. Not as in romantic towards another person. Actually, even his explicitly romantic journals, about Patrick Stump his girlfriend Mikey Way aren't romantic in that way. Written any other way, it'd be miserable. His love isn't romantic, his sentences are. I guess some call it poetic, others call it cheesy. I'd also say it's poetic, I guess, like poetic irony. A mechanic dying in a car accident caused by him not getting his car inspected. Finding out the partner you never really loved cheated on you. There's a romance in the misery, when there's something like irony involved. And that same feeling comes out when I read Pete Wentz's writing. It's a Greek tragedy rebooted for the early-2000s.

I don't know. I have no idea how to end this. Just rambling about a 44 year old man's diary from 13 years ago. Words old enough to be a little middle-school shithead. Almost a slightly-more-developed high schooler, at this point. Who's holding the graduation party?

sooo yeah, this is where i actually admit i'm tired, and i go to bed. sweet. goodnight.

xxoo, chasey

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