Here we are again, back at my place. I always end up here pouring my heart out to the night. Almost like clockwork the anxiety sets in. A whiff of perfumes from a towel or pillowcase tucked away and all the unanswered questions come crashing in. I keep waiting for you to come home or for me to wake up at some previous point of my life, sobbing from the worst nightmare I’ve ever had.

Tonight I write out the pain your half truths left behind, the way your actions never matched your words and how it was okay for you to live a private life and expect me to just wait for you to come home…. That is not love nor is a relationship… It is abuse…

Tonight I write about nights alone and lonely. Tonight I write about a ghost or was it girl… Or maybe I just dreamt the whole thing..💔🎨 tonight I write stuff…

B.