on this break i've designated one thing. to steer clear of you, to remove you from me: my soul, my essence. twenty one days is the amount of time needed to break a habit. this break is less than that sitting at a fourteen enough for me to sit the night before we return chewing my fingernails on if you'll be there in the morning if you'll be safe, healthy, alive. a lot can happen in fourteen days and it's awful for me to sit and think. so far i've done a very good job keeping you out of my thoughts. out of my conversations. the only time you've come up was that a few days into this break i saw you and blast it my whole body heat up like fire i felt my skin get clammy and hot i felt conflicting emotions. but one thing stood clear: i want to be done with you. now. i have no time for this beating around the bush *******. i'm sick an tired of crying over your bipolar personality being a friend one and a foe the next you even know that i feel for you. i've dreamt to hold your hand and lie beside you and watch the sky be born and grow old, fading into black to count the stars. i've wished for you on lost pennies, four 1's--two 11's on a clock, on stars, on birthday candles, crossed fingers, christmas lists. i've written countless poems expressing all my anguish and excitement. god you bring out the worst in me, but also the best. i'm so patient with you, but jealous towards others. i wish you knew what you did to me. i wish you knew what you did to me over the fact that i feel for you, over petty feelings that i'm ready to be over of, that i've wasted a year and a half on. twenty one days breaks a habit. fourteen isn't quite enough, but i'll take it. tonight is the first time i've actually thought about you. and this poem of promise speaking of freedom from feeling so awful all the time, sounds lovely. i'm sorry to have inconvenienced you for a year and a half over feelings i should of put out immediately. but fire spreads rapidly, my dear. and i have a low tolerance of heat.