I mean it from the bottom of my [HEART].

1. Buy a new toothbrush as the one that I currently own  has the slight scent of aged cheese, as well as a bit of the color. 2. Get a haircut. To say that my hair is merely 'uneven' would be a gross understatement resulting in an entire flock of angels falling down dead as a result of my untruths. I will never be accepted into heaven, as God shall never forgive me. 3. Buy some cat food, for underneath all of that fur lies a feline of pure skin and bone. She will die soon from starvation. As it stands I feed her bits of my Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the bowl in between bites. We are currently team eaters. 4. Invest in a few pairs of long socks. The winter months are soon to set in and without adequate warmth for my legs whilst wearing unseasonably short skirts, I will fall ill and die. Also, because of the set of angels I had slain previously, I will be sent directly to hell, where although it will be warm enough for my unseasonably short skirt, will be rather vexing as it

Happy. He asked me once if I was ever happy. I had to think for a long time in order to answer his question. If what I perceived as happiness with him was really happiness. Or if it were what I forced myself to believe was happiness. After a long moment of silence, I finally opened my mouth to speak. "No, I don't suppose I ever was."

A few nights ago, I was left at the imaginary altar. My bedroom, the church filled with all of our imaginary family and friends joined together as imaginary guests. My imaginary groom long gone, bags packed as you ran out the door with only the excuse of 'this just isn't working out anymore,' to tide me over. My not-so-imaginary tears did nothing to make you stay. All that you left behind was me standing alone to explain to everyone just why you weren't going to make it to the imaginary wedding.

Excluding the unfortunate soul I lost my virginity to in the first place, I can honestly say that I have never had sex with any one person more than once. I suppose to some that would make it seem like I am promiscuous. The phrase 'tantric whore' is the one my cousin used to describe me once, actually. It could be assumed that I just have sex with a bunch of people. Only once. Numbers start stacking after a while, I would imagine. Maybe someone who only has sex with a person once, but has somehow had sex upwards of fifty times in a year would be given the title of whore. I'm certain that if a girl has sex with four men in a month people go around whispering behind her back. That's at least a man per week. But truth be told, this could also mean that I don't have that much sex. What happens if I don't have sex with everyone with a warm body that I come across? Once doesn't seem so bad if it's only something that comes around every time the moon turns g