10:19 p.m. - 2011-08-11
stickers on my notebooks on the floor
Here we are again, selling our souls to the devil, and for what in return? Immortality? Hardly. Eternal Immunity? We wish. No, we traded our souls because they said it would make us more marketable; it was a real chance to make our resumes sell themselves.
So here we are again. I must just be missing the magic. Happens to us all.
Considering new adventures, tortured by the Quentin and Alice dilemma that I keep turning over in my head, living from phone call to phone call.
In comparison, we have minuscule problems. I wouldn't even call them problems, they are more like complaints.
I won't lie and say it matters to other people if we smile. Most of them are too wrapped up in their own lives to notice, but I will say this. If it doesn't matter to anyone else one way or the other, why not smile?
