she was a mess, like a bundle of luggage that fell from an airplane.

there's a certain irony about crying when you're putting your make-up on.

and there's a certain feeling i get when i look through the old boxes of memories that sit, cold, at the foot of my closet.

i miss you.
i miss you.
i miss me.

what changed? and who sent you away? and where am i?
and i miss you.
i miss you.
i miss me.

the sun is rising, it sticks to schedule, but i don't want to leave this heap of bedding that i've nested in. i miss what it was like to know you. who are you?

i know it will never be the same, but i don't know what changed.