Sometimes, at night, I think of you. I listen to a song and it takes me back to these old times. It seems like it was ages ago and we were best friends and I felt like I mattered. I guess all that's messed up now, all of it is just memories and regrets. And I think to myself: why the hell does it still hurts like that?! It hurts because it was real. I guess it was, for me at least. I wanted to save you, because if I could save you, then I could save myself. But none of that happened. I destroyed you and you ruined me. It felt like I'd fought World War III on my own with my bare hands. It felt like nothing could ever matter anymore. Nothing could be important. Nothing could save me. Not myself. Not anyone. To be honest, it still feels like that. A bit. I feel empty and numb and I don't love you anymore but the thought of you being alive and not needing me in your life stings like a motherfucking beehive was dropped on my head. You needing me meant I mattered. I was worth something. I was someone. And now, I don't know. Who I am or where I'm going. I feel like I've lost it. I don't write anymore. So what am I really? I feel loved and cherished and admired and fuck I've got everything I need in life. But it still feels like a piece of me was taken and torn and burnt and whatever you did to that part of me. That part that was so intense. That loved the cold and the brokenness of things. That wanted to fix things and try to make them pretty. I wish that piece of me could come back. I wish everything were different. And the same. Because who would I be if I hadn't gotten my heart so broken? And where would I be? And there're to many questions in my head tonight. I just wish you would read this. Or maybe not. Fuck.