I still wrote like I used to. I was going through all of my old posts and found this from 2008, and realized that I only write when I’m unhappy. Like really unhappy, and I haven’t been in a while so I guess that’s good. But I still kinda wish I wrote more..

“I wish I could fall asleep to the sounds of your heart, and wake up to the feel of your breath on my cheek. The thoughts that were all too relevant yesterday have been pushed aside by your smile, the way you pick at your fingernails when you get nervous, the way you turn your head when you think.

My chest feels heavy as you take my hand and days turn into nights, and then days again. Time meaning nothing when I’m with you.
I don’t need rest, I don’t have time to sleep. Reality is finally better than anything I could dream of.
Our own little world under the bedsheets, pure and innocent and happy.
The sound of your voice echoes through my veins, I don’t need air. No I don’t need to breathe.
All the stars up in the sky and the leaves in the trees, all the broken bits that make you trip up and grassy bits in between. All the matter in the world, that’s how much I love you..

But now you’re gone and the only thing I have to remember you by is the hole in my chest where my heart once was.
I feel myself falling apart at the seams because I know how much I need you.
Occasionally I wish I could walk through a picture window and have the sharp, broken shards slash me to ribbons so I would finally look like how I felt.
I see you with her and irony laughs at me, curling its steely fingers around my neck and squeezing tight. You deserved better than I could ever offer.

I walk the lonely streets in search of my long lost smile. My appetite. That feeling, but every corner I turn only leads to another empty passageway.”