Never in my life has a piece of fiction left me with such a felling of emptiness.
I will never have my own baby smurf. That is the truth and I hate that. I fucking hate it.
I will never get to hear it's squeeks and giggles as I lightly squish it's spongy sensitve blue nub of a tale. I will never get to rub one's baby skin smooth bulbus nose. I will ever get to playfully tickle one's soft bare tummy. I will never fell one rolling around playfully in my jacket pocket. I will never get to listen to it's blissful chirps as I clean it's delicate light blue skin during bath time with hypoallergenic organic super soft sponges.
I will never get to feel one fall asleep in my lap. Fuck
I hate this world. I know things so good and perfect can not exist. The world is evil and solid.
This honestly makes me want to kill myself