7th
John
Recently, I’ve been doing everything I can to get to that place where there’s nothing in the world except me and it feels the way it feels to be drunk on an empty stomach after two nights without sleep.
Would you let me lay you down if I told you that some mornings, some nights, some afternoons, all I want, still, is for you to tell me to come home.
I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. The only problem is I need the acute pain of heartbreak to be a person worth saving, to be a writer worth reading, to be (what was it you once said) all the me’s that claw from within, that stick their fingers through the slots between my ribs in the war for the (my) heart.
Someone said that all I have to do is pay my own electric bill and be kind. The other obligations are someone else’s. This is not the girl I meant to be, which must mean this is not the girl I’m meant to be.
