Seems as though I didn’t think of you as much as I usually do. But I’m probably wrong.
I’m eating chocolate cake for breakfast..

It’s ******* June.
Remember how you said that you used to find my hair in the most random places? I hope that still happens, but I doubt it because it’s been over a month since I stepped foot in your room.

I read your poems the other day on my third cigarette and cried on my bathroom floor. Your words were always perfect. Every single word. You and your perfect ******* words. I am so obsessed with you it makes me sick.

We talked through scattered and meaningless messages today that ultimately don’t change anything and I am till here missing you to death.

Last night I told you I was in love with you and you didn’t reply.