I'm a mess in the supermarket, the lady down the aisle wears a worried face. I'm buying razors with mascara running down my face and she probably thinks I'm going to cut myself tonight from the safety of my bathroom. Maybe she thinks you broke my heart, maybe she's right. I'm not buying them to destroy myself with, I've learned how to do that from the inside out by now, but I've never been good with timing and execution has never been my thing so I'll let her worry about me because if I try to explain how I haven't been okay since the day you said hello to me I will leave with more wounds than I walked in with.