Spent last night sitting between the window and the curtains. The wind howling through the crack in the window and the rain coming down hard. I sit with my back to the outside, a candle flickering in some far off eternity to my left and I'm watching the shadows running down down down. Like there's water running down my curtains. Tears running down my walls. I'm telling a boy who's in pain that it's not all bad, that some things are just awkward, that sometimes things get bad before they can get better and I hate myself for being so predictable and cliche when we used to be so new and exciting. I tell him it's alright, things'll pan out and I tell him that he's beautiful regardless and I cry another fucking time because I've lost him. I was supposed to go visit him back in July when my world fell apart and he was there to help me to hold on, but I broke it and I told him that it couldn't work. One's enough. I stayed up with him for days and days afterwards and he told me that he felt sick, that he felt like it was broken and that he'd lost me for good. I know how it feels now and I'm sorry that I ever inflicted this kind of anything onto anybody because I've been wandering around with this sick, sad, desperate feeling in my gut for the past three months and I doubt that any person could ever have any sympathy for why I grieve.
I'm home from Dublin because most of my classes are cancelled for this week and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm smoking way more than I can afford to smoke. My throat hurts. I'm reading a theory book that I can't quite comprehend and I am lonely and not used to living such a slow existence anymore. I need motion and I need to do something before I explode, but there's always only one place, one person, to turn to. Truth be told, I really can't do that anymore. Something's got to give.