I feel like the only normal one. But that’s a load of crap. None of us are really normal. We’re all just strange pieces in the world. And the half that usually connects with me is thousands of miles away, in Paris. I just hope she’s sleeping. If I picture her in a peaceful fucking slumber, I stop worrying. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded, keeping me right fucking here. Without that image, I’d lose my shit.
OMG, MY HEART
