things are never okay. not ever. no matter how much you wish on a star-on every star-no matter how much you hope (how hard your eyes are squeezed shut when you pray) not even if you give yourself blisters crossing every damn finger on your hand.
and really...that's all you can do. you can't ever fix anything, besides those last few desperate, futile attempts which don't do anything besides delude you into thinking that you're really doing anything.
but really, you're not. and sometimes you get a harsh slap in the face (which can come in just about any form.)
fuck it. tonight, for once, irony parallels reality and i'm alone. being alone...i can't touch anyone and they an't touch me. since i'm futile at best...and only some superficial existance...it's for the best (not that it ever mattered anyways...let's not forget that fact.)
a/n: angsty. it's from skye's pov, btw.