I havent wrote anything of substance. I like to think myself a writer of some sort. The real writers are the ones that hammer out material good or bad. The ones that never quit working on their story. The ones that pour time and energy into a the task of writing. Most can’t coin a story out of thin air. Some really do lack imagination. I fear that my imagination is waning.
One. It will make you happy
Two. It will be very very fun
Three. My body is amazing so is yours
Four. (Would song lyrics be appropriate?) We could make an awesome playlist to do it to.
Five. I will help you with math.
Six. I have a nice dick, I heard you have a nice one as well.
Seven. I’m a great lay. I hope you are.
Eight. I’m good for your health.
Nine. It’s a chance to feel a live.
Ten. We can smoke after.
all of this is in vain. that is the story of my life. my effort=disappointment. no one cares to understand…there isnt someone for me. there isnt a cute girl to kiss me and tell me to cheer up. there isnt someone to cuddle close to and have this loneliness fade away. no not for me. i have some defect that keeps my alone and keeps me in the friend zone. i might as scream at a wall.
it’s a fucking lie when a girl tells me i am a great guy and a girl would be lucky to have me. because if it was true i wouldn’t be single or i would at least hook up. it’s fucking lie when they say I’m not looking to for a relationship i’ just want to be alone. because if i was good enough or attractive enough they wouldnt say that. they want to be my friend because i’m nice and i treat them with respect and courtesy and thats all they want.