I've never been so emotionally drained in my life.
The cold from the sheets is the only thing keeping me convinced this is real.
I turned off the light, and joined hands with conciousness as I went back into an empty bedroom, but instead I locked eyes with Mike, smiling, because Mike always fucking smiles and it always comforted me until now. I don't remember what I said. All I remember is the burning in my cheeks, and the evaporation of whiskers slowly deleting themselves from my face forever. Repetitivley damning the moist trails drowning the ivory paint that suffocated my pores, and I, for the first time, began to feel guilty for the act, finding within me and it a whirled relation.
This will get better
I sleep more alone than I ever have before,
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