Dear Lost,
Why oh why must you continuously confuse me like an Asian Horror film? The only real good part about you now is Desmond (who was going to die but didn't...) and Sawyer (who is still alive and hot)...(for now...). I would like to know who your writers are so that I can shove their scripts down their own throats and see if they regurgitate something better. Good luck in your coming seasons with that time travel shit.
Lots of Love for Josh Holloway,
Olivia Lee Wilson
start a whole new life, yet the memory attached to a face still stings just as bad as it did before. Not just ex-boyfriends but ex-friends, ex-companions. Like everything just doesn't mean jack shit. Ideas and questions continue to pop up in my mind. Why, what? huh? what the fuck? fuck you. I just feel like everything is very surreal. A fog. On the other hand, of course, negative experiences have made me who I am just as much as the positive ones. I'll always cherish the good times and hate that bad ones were had, but shit, when is it time for me to be really happy? Is true happiness an illusion? Are people who think they're truly happy just trapped in a subconscious hallucination based on ignorance?