Thursday, February 12, 2015
The only promises I make are promises I don't intend to keep; I know I said I would give you something good tonight, but I don't feel like it. I've been staying up until just before the sun rise and waking two hours later, haven't been eating, and I dredge myself to the shower half as often as usual. My body is so tired; it's hard to sit up in bed and my vision is confused by blotches of blues and reds. I've been pitying myself again. Not in a poetic way, if pity is ever poetic, but in a pathetic way. Something is going on and it's something I've got to snap out of. I'll let you know when I do. The fear is that perhaps I don't want to, because as long as I hide underneath the daze I'm in now I don't have to feel the things I was feeling earlier this week; I don't have to miss him, I don't have to worry if I've made a monumental mistake, I don't have to do anything.