This tiny room reminds me of Phuket
God how long will this wait take? Just how long more will I be able to take it? I hate this. I hate thinking about you, thinking about the things you used to do. I hate thinking about you and feeling my heartbeat quicken like it was only yesterday that I first met you. I hate thinking about you and how you make me feel, I hate missing you. I hate missing you because it feels like the love I had was so inadequate as compared to me yearning for you. This crave, this craving for you, KILLS, and yet I will gladly die a thousand and one times over. I can’t sleep, I don’t feel like eating, I don’t feel like drinking. Some friends drag me out and all I want to is rot in my bed. Those friends ask me to forget everything over a few shots of tequila and maybe some vodka, but every shot I take tastes just like your kisses. Am I insane yet? I probably am. I want time to pass with a blink of an eye, because I’m not sure what to think about it at all. Will my feelings change after all? Will I realize that maybe I should go off, somewhere, with someone else? Will they stay like this for as long as it takes? I have no fucking idea. I have no grasp on this new reality, and there’s nothing to anchor me down to this new ground. What am I supposed to do? Tell me. Give me that green light. So I can go away and forget, so I can welcome you back. Fuck. I’m literally pushing everyone away who asks, and only giving them a glimpse into what I really feel. Because really, what gives me the right to bare my soul when I can’t even bare it to you in the first place? You couldn’t deal. They sure can’t deal too, that much I know. Writing is slowly becoming more suffocating, because I’m forced to let all these emotions wash over me again and again. Will I get better if I stop writing? Ha, no, no. I’ll probably rip my chest out.