I adore you.

Y’know, I started to write something snarky and/or flirty, and realized I need to put that on hold for a second.

I don’t say this often enough: it’s nice to be adored, even by a grayfaced little ‘fraidy-cat.

Some people wait a lifetime to be told something like that, and I’d do well to appreciate all of you lovely little freaks while I have you.

(Especially the freakiest little lovely of them all. Y’know, the girl with the bows and the boobs. Yeah, that one.)

Why do you feel it necessary to make such a big deal out of everything? Why the drama? Why is it that —no matter how much fun everyone else is having— all you want is for them to know how sad you are? Why does everything always hurt you more than anyone else? Why does everything you do end in tears? Why are you so fucked up and stupid and useless?

I guess it doesn’t matter, as long as you can keep me hard.

Do you have any feelings of sympathy or pity for any “broken girl”?

Sometimes I slip. Sad stories are sad, and it can be easy to get caught up in them.

But no one who identifies as one of my broken girls is coming to me for sympathy. In their own fucked-up little ways, they just want someone to see them as they see themselves, to acknowledge their reality and even embrace it.

It’s hard enough in this world, feeling like a worthless cunt. It’s even harder when you realize it arouses you to feel that way. The last thing you want is a man’s pity… his pity only tells you that you’re not even good at being nothing.