sometimes i think you only want to talk to me when you know i’m falling apart. i can’t keep doing this to myself — letting myself let people get to me like my urge to smoke at 3 am when everyone’s asleep, like swimming 30 feet deep and not wanting to come up for air. i want someone to talk to me when nothing’s up, when nothing’s happening. i want someone to call me in the middle of the night to tell me about a bad dream, about a memory he thought he has forgotten, about anything that comes into his mind — like a wild idea that he knows only i can join in with him. i think you only talk to me because you have something you want that’s completely out of reach from the others. i think you only talk to me because you think i’ve forgiven you for breaking a vow that only we had the chance to make. sometimes i wonder… when you look at the stars, do you see the same, dull, twinkling lights that mean nothing, or do you see the promises we’ve marked on them, with each unfulfilled wish me made?

it’s the cigarette smoke that’s doing this to me.

i’m sorry.