It's been a while since I've written anything, and I'm starting to wonder if it was your presence that was my only source of inspiration.

This is not good. This is NOT good.

Months passed and I have met so many people that I thought the loss of a person, no matter what it was we had and no matter what it is he meant to me, should not haunt me constantly as it is doing right now.

This is not good. This is not good.

It has become scary because my only getaway from this gruesome, cruel world is sitting down with my cat in my lap contemplating former thoughts of you.

My goodbye was unexplained, and despite the numerous amounts of poetry I've read and the numerous amounts of poetry I've written, I cannot, up to this day, fathom my own goodbye.

This is not good. This is not good.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if I showed up at your doorstep and then I remember I would never really have the guts to do that.

I am petrified of you. I'm still in love with you.

This is not good. This was never good.