I haven't writen in a while and it hurts my heart and head to know I just don't have inspiration. The words used to flow out of my fingertips when I was with you but now it's like if they were stuck in the palm of my hands and they cannot reach out for the paper. And today I read a poem about death and couldn't help but to remember how I used to picture how sweet it'd be to die by your side. Pathetic. He is hugging me like before and I am getting chills and that is also pathetic. Maybe love is not made for someone like me or maybe I am not made for something so beautiful as love, but as long as I can write...
I guess it's alright