These 3 A.M. snacks no longer resemble 3 A.M. snacks, but rather the idea of giving up.

Anyone can leave your mind, but your heart . . .

How do I rebuild this castle?

After all, the king cut off my hands. .

Hell is the sadness
Of losing a best friend and
becoming alone.

this heartbreak isn't textbook. it isn't like those movies, or those books, or anyone's anything. bracing yourself for impact is an impossibility. nothing - and listen to me when I say nothing - can prepare you for this pain. you begin to miss everything. everything you thought you'd never miss: his obnoxious little brother and his father playing guitar too loud and the way his mother said the word "vegetables" and never having enough room to sleep. now I don't think I could get close enough to you if I tired. the closest I am getting to you these days is when your sign is next to my sign in a horoscope. and I know you don't believe in those but this is the only hope I have left. the barnum statements of romance hold no weight until I am told that we are perfect for each other. do you believe in alternate universes? maybe in another world we are happy together, eating popsicles and sharing sticky kisses. the truth is this poem is wearing on me. I'm tired of discussing the possibility of there being another you and another me together happy on a somewhere else far away. I am tired of writing the I miss you poem. I am tired.

note: I will continue to write the I miss you poem until my fingers break.

It's been one month since my last letter.
This month, I did not think of you, I really succeeded that.
Sure there is still certain things which reminds me of you, some songs, but I succeeded.

Your name leave no more that bitter taste in my mouth,
It doesn't play in repeat for hours in my head,
Your voice is a distant memory and your perfume is forgotten.
I still think of you sometimes, but it's different now, i am cured of you.

One day you will understand that I was made for you,
That I would have made you happy,
I would have give you everything of me, even  my soul.

One day you will regret,
You will think of it, vaguely, that it would have work, if you tried.

the world is bright and yours,

from the ******* treetops to the floors.