You will never love me again

I’m just trying to find a friend that I can kick back with.
Maybe listen to Fleetwood Mac for hours whilst getting shit done. Write music. Sing songs with so much passion at the top of our lungs and convince ourselves we wrote them.
Or take some mescaline (thanks, Kurt) and see who can come up with the wildest stories (whilst listening to Jeff Buckley) and draw. Stare at the ceiling and talk about literally everything. Rant and talk shit about the people we hate. Tell them my struggles and not be judged or ridiculed or ignored. Someone who will be there whether it’s 4pm or 4am.
I want to be high as hell when I tell them something that’s bothering me, and they’ll be high as yike defending me to the death and coming up, in the utmost seriousness, with an elaborate plan to kill whoever pissed me off. And we’ll both believe it’ll happen even though later on we’ll laugh about it. But they weren’t joking and I’d have to stop them from doing something insane.
Reserve Sundays for formula 1, obviously.
It’s me. I’m describing myself.
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I guess that no one ever really made me feel that much higher

If you were ever involved with a writer
as a friend, a partner,
an acquaintance or a lover,
and you think she’s writing about you
The truth is she probably is,
maybe she doesn’t know she’s doing it
maybe she reads over it
and sees you in it too
But the real question is
what are you doing
still reading her writing
hoping she’s writing
about you?
– k.


Now Playing: West Coast – Lana Del Rey