i fucking hated everything about her, physically repulsive, held a court of fanboys, i constantly got yelled at on adt about being hurtful to her.

i rarely find these things joyful, but i'm fucking elated mirrors will fucking rape every part of the essence of the woman forty years down the road everytime she washes her hands in an airport.

they're everywhere, you sold the three balls of snow that comprised your physique and two to six times a day your reflection will tear you apart. enjoy the lie, i hope you persevere in vain to a ripe old age-the pain's not something one can outrun. reflective surfaces are going to be waking nightmares daily and i approve of this.