"My name is fawn and I like food" was what I said when the RA asked us to introduce ourselves to our floor freshman year. It worked out well for me then and shall suffice now. I'm not a journalist or some prolific writer in any way-- I don't have an agenda or a cause. I'm just a girl with a blog.
At first, I swore that if I ever saw him again, I’d pick up the biggest rock/piece of garbage/piece of feces I could find and chuck it at him. Then I’d say “Oh, Hi! What are you up to nowadays? Do you still cheat on your girlfriends, lie to your parents, and think you’re an 8 when you’re really a 3?”
But now, with time between us, I think I feel more sad for him than anything else. I don’t think he’ll ever understand love, and that to me is the most pitiful thing of all.
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