i’m not supposed to try and write to you or contact you or even think of you as often as i do, but i miss you.  i ******* miss you like winter & nighttime smoke fixes & pure unadulterated bliss.  it hurts to care for you as much as i do because we are an impossibility, the insolvable equation with no easy compromise.  you aren’t supposed to think about me either, but i must cross your mind sometimes, if you meant half the things you said.  i just want you to worry about me, to care for me, to wonder about me.  i need to matter, because i’m worthless without someone to pull me from disaster time after time.  i’m  bleeding again & this time it’s deep.  caring for my body has been pushed to the sidelines in favor of oblivion & self-destruction.  the weeks after graduation, i spent them in a ****** blur of mindlessness & self-hatred in the lucid moments that were few & far between.  i wish i told you why i wrote all that poetry, that it was all personal, that i lied when i said i was okay.  i need a friend, a body beside me, anyone to talk to at three in the morning when i’m crying & don’t know why.  this hurts like everything else, but you are a strand of something wishful, because maybe you care more than you said & you want to save me as much as i want to be saved.