Last night I found love in my dreams. I found it and killed it. Why is it that I'm always killing off the great loves of my dream-life? It’s almost expected for me now; I’m somehow aware from the moment he walks through the door. Taking the good with the bad I play out the dream and watch him die in the end. It always hurts the same. In the end, I always wake up crying. Last night I watched him explode, a mess of red before my eyes opened. Typical, he waited until after he fucked me to die.

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I saw 300 last night. It was lovely, to be sure.