Pieces of my journal
Who, what, where, why, when are
n’trelevant when it comes to you. The who’s, where’s and when’s do matter. I am supposed the be the who, here is the where, and when is now. Fuck the exit signs and broken hearts between us. You are my exit sign, and my broken heart. You are my exit sign; you are the end of my journey. You are my broken heart; you won’t let me put us together.