I'm sitting in a big couch with a bunch of tears threatening to leave my eyes and I've never felt more vulnerable. I have your voice stuck in the head like daises freshly wilted and honestly; it's not fair. I don't but I do. You are inside my chest, but you are almost not. Leaving and entering as you please, as if you were a ghost made up of people's promises and best regrets. But I think you are more than a ghost made up of promises and regret's but made of constellations and flower petals because I really like those things and I still kind of really like you.