So how cold does it get in New York City? A lot colder than I expected. A lot colder. And it's not until now that I see how much it has to do with him. My pillow isn't nearly as comforting as you were, holding you, loving you. My sheets make me sweat, but it's not the same sweat that it was with you making me too hot in bed. It's just not comfortable anymore without you. And it took me two months to figure that out. I fucked one boy in those months. I made out with another. But I didn't give a fuck, and I don't talk to either of them anymore. And I'm sick now, and I'm sick of being sick of you. And I am. I am sick because of you. And you won't visit and it makes me sad. I want to get back together, and I don't want to get back together and I'm all confused. All confused and I hate it, because I guess that you are comfortable. Happy, I hope. Content, but I hope you miss me. And I hope you never read this, but I wonder if you care enough to read this. And it's hard. And I'm really fucking sick. I threw up while shitting today. Not to be too vulgar and whatnot. But that sucks, because you are sitting, and you can't get up to puke in the fucking can. And I was caught surprised, as surprised as I was when we said goodbye at the airport that morning, where things changed forever. And I cleaned up, but I can't sleep. And I'm stuck. It's only 9:10 and 54 seconds in the evening, and even the Tylenol PM isn't helping but I want to sleep but I'm thinking about you and I'm tired. And my whole body hurts and I wonder how I could have done this to myself. But I know how sick I am. I'll get better. Give me another day or two, and I'll feel better. I've been drinking lots of fluids, eating a lot soup. A shitload of takeout. But I lost my ATM card sometime this week and I'm fucked because the bank doesn't open until Monday, and it's Sunday, and I'm broke. I have maybe 50 cents to my name, and I won't be able to get any tomorrow so I can't rent the videos that I want to rent that I know will make me feel better so I read the John Waters book you didn't know about and it makes me think of you. And it makes me sad. Because I know you. And you know me, as much as anyone can, and I think about you more than is healthy because we are no more. NO fucking more. And this exegesis feels good, even if my body hurts. This catharsis, this vomit of the soul. It's like getting rid of all that baggage that keeps me tied to you. And at the same time I feel more tied to you than ever, and I worry that you just don't care. I'm annoying to you. You would love to be rid of me completely. And I worry that that is true. And I hope to God, someone I don't believe in, that it's not true. I refrain from saying I Love You. But now that I don't have you, I realize how much I at least DID love you. And I love you. Fuck you hate me. I hate myself too. I hate what I do to myself. And I can't help it. I love it. I love you. I even like this pain. It gives me fucking meaning. And it eats me up inside. And it's not all about you. I hope you know that. And this is addressed to me, not to you. I hope you know that too. It's part of me coming to terms with myself. And I need to apply myself. And it's difficult sometimes. But you inspired me. And fucking shit god damn mother fucker I've given it all up motherfucker. I miss you is all I'm trying to say. I don't think we need to get back together, it would never work like this. But I miss you nonetheless.'Red eyes and tears no more for you my love, I fear. No more fear, no more fear I'm in love. Losing sensation for you my love, I fear. Losing sensation for you my love, I fear.' ----'Red Eyes And Tears' by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club