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It’s 2am.
And I’m hungry. Should probably go down and make myself some tuna pasta.
I’ll leave the house at exactly 9am. Just before the house becomes alive.
With hate, with bitterness, with resentment.
Dear God, I hope that by 2012, I’m living somewhere else.
This isn’t a home. This is a house, a building.
I consider myself a dormer in this place. This can’t be a home. It used to be.
Now, it’s the farthest thing from that.
Goodnight tumblr.




