Charles Dickens tells us "every heart is a profound mystery to the heart beating nearest to it."

The type of day where I wish Harley were here to have in depth talks about the cutstrips of philosophy and what not. To rant about the why of life and to feel like someone understands me. I'm really sleepy. here we go:

and then, one day, you’ll meet a boy. a boy who smells like an ashtray and looks like a spiderweb.
 tastes like the rain, and sounds like a thunderstorm. highly transcendental, either the highest or lowest form of being you’ve seen.
 maybe even ever. maybe he’s forever. in time, it will become apparent that you are his.
 that he has this whole great plan in his beautiful brain, in his sunset skull. he’s got the whole wide world wrapped around his index finger, long and skeletal, in control. he won’t call you.
and he’ll rarely ever answer when you call him. but you’ll keep trying. because you’re stuck with the feeling that not one person knew him like you did.
not one being gave him what you did. this is what they all think. everyone feels this deep connection.
 but the look in his eyes, its so detached. and you just want to fix it. but then you start to wonder, was he really ever there at all?
 and then you’re left with an apparition, that smells like an ashtray and looks like a spiderweb, tastes like rain and sounds like a thunderstorm. met a boy who wasn’t there, with knots in his bones and knots in his hair.
 he never knew you, and he never cared.