You do not deserve the poems I wrote for you.
Every day was like a day out of someone else’s life. Nothing had ever happened to me, and now everything was happening to me.
I’d rather expose frailty, have mistakes. I’d rather embarrass myself, get into fights with journalists, you know, get in trouble for stupid things, because you know what? I’m a stupid person. I never said I wasn’t. I don’t think I’m hot shit. That’s the misinterpretation I think that people get, is that I want attention, I think I deserve attention, I consider myself to be this certain type of thing— and I don’t. I have no idea what I’m doing. I have no interest in being fake or shallow. I just wanna be real as much as possible.
There was some sadness in how that could happen, falling out of love with something that had shaped you. Or even people who had.