all I wanted was for you to open your eyes. not just look, touch, hear; see, feel, listen. all i wanted was to be your friend, but you couldnt even manage that.

im not going to sit here and spit cliches at your face. im just going to tell you that in a thousand weeks you wont think of me anymore, because by then thom yorke wont remind you of me, and all the memories that do will have gone sour.

there is no turning back.