I stare at the cieling and my mom knocks on the door every hour, scared that I might stop breathing.
I do not paint and I do not write, everything is dulled by the blue upon me and I feel sad and angry, but at the same time I do not feel at all.
Days are long, and nights even longer-and endless reminder of your midnight eyes and for the first time in forever, I find myself hating on the stars.
I do miss you, I miss you with everything I've got left and every fiber of my body keeps calling out your name.

But I miss myself more