It's going on almost a month now. No drowning in sorrow or self pity or gorrow. Still I can't help wanting to tug at your heartstrings and YOUR wanting. There is something so beautiful in being in your bed,  in your arms. While i cry.  You wanting to hold me but afraid to,  me wanting arms I can fight against. A punching bag, that's what it is. What i look for in you. I'm putting us in the dark. I don't know why you ever liked me in the first place. Do you still? Did I ruin it all with my honesty. With my emotions.  With my whole self. I told you I was too much.

Here I am
All wrapped up
Taking a breath
The next moment
And the next
If I wait
Long enough
You'll be gone
Or I will
I forget how slowly time moves for other people. I haven't talked to you in a week,  you talked to me yesterday.  This is what happens when you go down wormholes, have adventures. Like Alice. She came back to the same moment,  a few weeks older. How selfish to ask the world to understand something I don't. I've gotten so old in such a short time.  Gray hair and all.

I don't want to sleep, to go home,  so I've come to make bad decisions instead

I won't say: this is not a good time.  Come back in 4 weeks. Or don't come back at all.  It's not worth it.  It being me.
I did the sleeping
I did the exercise
I did the food
I did the people
And none of it was enough to stop wanting to die. So I am going back to bed. Only for a bit. And i will do the exercise and i will do the food and i will do the people. And tomorrow will be better. And maybe it's almost over. But i won't know if i give up.