When you’re sitting in a car with someone, spilling your guts, telling them about your deepest insecurities. You’re talking about all of the things you worry about, the insecurities you have, all of the little things that you usually push to the back of your mind. You’re telling them the stuff you don’t talk to anybody about, and for a minute it seems like they actually care. And then you pull up to an red light and they interrupt your confessions to point out that the guy crossing the street has a weird haircut and just like that the conversation comes to a halt and I realized that they had clearly heard enough. It wasn’t exactly the reaction I was going for, but it did remind me once again why people keep diaries and see therapists.
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