I do come back
in dreams, lies
and broken down deja vu,
only I can't
find my way back to you.

I can't sneak out the old window,
I can't wait for the bus.
I can't write you letters.
I can't keep thinking of us.

How are you doing today?
I miss hearing your stories.
I miss hearing your laugh.
I miss being Eleanor.

She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.”
― *Rainbow Rowell, Eleanor & Park