I get so angry staring at this ****** computer screen, a blank field staring back. I get frustrated, because the words I spell out don't ever seem to convey my emotion. If actions could be turned into words, I'd write me, screaming at you in my empty house at 3am. I'd write me sneaking out at night, wandering into the forest. Chain smoking, because maybe the stench of those ******* Marlboro blacks you left out my house would take your cologne out of my favorite sweater. I'd write me, laying on the floor, crying because your favorite song came on the radio. Again. I would write me, sitting on the porch in the rain, trying to picture the exact moment I lost you. Then, I'd write me slamming the door on the way in, realizing I never even had you. Most importantly, I'd write my stomach burning when I see pictures of her, furiously envying the love she receives. I've never been the jealous type before now. Lastly, I'd write my eyes burning as I stare up at the ceiling fan above me at 5am, sleepless. Late nights aren't fun without you around.