my bedroom, my pillow, my scrumptious flannel sheets (it’s been cold in LA)
cause he's in there, waiting for me and I don't want to see him
feel his emptiness,
be held only by his memory.
So I'm up. It's one am. I will sleep less than 4 hours tonight and tomorrow I will continue running,
and running some more,
until the loss of him catches me
and I sink into the hole
I will make phone calls so that others can remind me how far I've come, that I don't stay in the hole for long. That I
Does this cycle ever end?
I know it doesn't and that is why I duck and weave. Thinking that maybe I can outsmart it, thinking that maybe once it will pass over me and I won't have to be reminded that
he's never coming back.