These people shouldn’t be in my present. They deserve to be in the past. But in 2011, there is no past. You’re not allowed to grieve anything because nothing actually dies. It just sits there slowly decaying, staring at you with a sinister grin. Sometimes Facebook feels like a museum of my life. I guess I’m just finally getting tired of looking at artifacts. I guess I’m just too sensitive for fucking Facebook.
Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Someone's Facebook, Thought Catalog
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