It used to be my phone that I carried around, in hopes that you'd call or, message, like or, comment - All that meaningless bullshit that we equate with love, affection, and respect. Now, it's this little book and the words have not stopped pouring forth; like lancing a boil, all the blood, and pus and pain are coming out.
I was tired. I wanted to crawl into bed and think of us fingers threaded together, limbs warm against each other, the weight of your head on my shoulder... And then I remembered; you said you loved me but we were a complication (and then you kissed me) in a long list of your complications. So I stayed awake.