I am used to the folds of the fire burning hot on my skin, the light it gives a mockery of the darkness I surround myself in.
I am used to covering myself up in the tidal waves of my sadness- these tsunamis are my solace, the way I drown is my comfort.
I am used to how it feels like being alone and sad and alone and sad; these two words so simple, so relatable but not by you.
You are not used to the black holes that form your sanctuary, as much four walls as any room is stars are not distant pinpricks you restrain yourself from reaching for.