I write and I write but it just doesn't fill the holes of the absent anymore. My emotions are on hold and my train of thought is, well, malnourished. I need to be productive, more ambitious, and, I guess, a little less occupied with showdowns against the moon. I use to have dreams, and goals, I use to be happy. Now I have blocked memories of empty bottles and a love slowing healing from being shattered to the bone.

This is my own fault yet I can't fix it, not back to what it use to be. There will always be a scar layered with uncertainty. I can give my sincerest apology but that's more like a bandaid with ointment smeared all over it. I feel like you deserve more than that but I'm not sure what to do or give as a replacement. Though I hope you know I would do anything in a heartbeat if it would mean you had the slightest idea of how truly sorry I am.

I want to come out of this barrier I've put between myself and the outside world to get a job, yet I don't have the nerve to really leave the house. I wish I could find a way out of this mess of my mind because I feel more than ready to start the new chapter to our life. But I think I need help, a shove here or there, to get back on my feet. I need to feel like I'm needed, and less like I'm expected. I need an open window to escape this haze I call my daily routine. I need to try and be better than what I am today, if not for me than for you.