Smells of cats and dead rats and he chose to sit his wrinkly ass next to me. Shouldn't mind, but his E-cigarette is really buggy. Bad enough all the teens like to puff it in my face, but old men too? I mean, come on…
My stop was next, so I got away from the seventy year old poser. Next to the doors, a green eyed dude was glared at some smoky glasses guy. I'd ship them, then again, not everybody in Japan is gay.
"Ritsu, sit down." The smoky dude asked.
"Shut up."
Yeah, closer than I thought.
I wonder if they drink together, spend times sipping each other brains. Wow, that sounded kinda creepy. But, do they? It doesn't have to be romance, just, do they actually love anyone?
Ding.
Do any of these people?
I passed flocks, all too busy, no time for love.
Does anyone love?
That's a stupid question, been on my mind for years though.
Usami's apartment wasn't far, I was making dinner in seconds. I could hear typing upstairs.
He always says I don't wanna cause anyone any trouble. For writer, he sure does make some cliché characters. I'm not like that, or at least, that doesn't make me who I am.
"I'm sick of it," I whispered and why the fuck not? No more lying. "Really fucking sick."
I let the pot boil over, grabbing my sleeping pills. Usami was gonna be up there for a few hours at least. I sat, TV news going.
Every day I see these people, too scared to be honest and it's real annoying. I don't wanna be like that, but I can't help it.
I gulped them all down, nearly choked.
Usami might miss me, no, he will. I'm too stupid to realize how many people I'll hurt, but then again, I want love. So maybe this is all some big attention cry, or maybe it's just-
Not giving a fuck.
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