Dreams aren't perfect.

I kinda have alot on my my mind. I kinda have alot of you on my mind. And I can't quite find a way to get rid of these thoughts. I'm so sick of it, of all of it. Of how little I meant to you, and how much you meant, and still mean, to me. Somebody told me that when it seems too good too be true, it usually is. And it was. You are. You are everything I had my mind set out searching for ever since I was little. You were this idealistic beautiful person, and you wanted me. You wanted me for one thing though, when I wanted all of you.

Home is a person.

I think we've gotten into this routine where we keep saying these undefined words to each other. Because you begin to think that the more you say them and how you say them, it's gonna give them some meaning. And make them a little less empty. And that maybe we both can understand them, but we can't. Not quite yet anyways. I don't think we know what we're saying and what we're getting into.

I want to start over.

Things used to be a certain way. But they aren't anymore. We used to be something spectacular. It always seems so spectacular though, until you become a part of it. Then it's just life.