There’s been a lot I haven’t had time to write about, but I need this out of my system.
I still have this awful impulse I can’t shake, it’s like this itch you can’t scratch. I want to talk to you, interact with you, but everything’s so fucking toxic. This must be like wanting to talk to someone when they’re dead and you know you’ll never be able to speak with them again. I can’t scratch that feeling off my skin, it’s bone deep. You’re dead. You’ve remained dead. You’ve refused to resurrect in my life. You will remain there.