7 things I wish I had written down before you found me;
 My body no longer feels like its in the present. Always two seconds in the past, lagging, waiting to be left behind between dawn and dusk of a repeated day. Hiding in your sighs as you sleep, my body waits in the shadows to be noticed.
 Your towel is a lighter colour. I hadn’t noticed, but its paler now. I wonder how long its been on the floor, or why I’m such a coward to pick it up. I leave it there, surrounded by your footprints and hair, and wonder how long your shadow has been haunting my apartment.
 My alarm clocks has been dead for 3 weeks. I don’t have the energy to fix it, knowing you would have if you were here. These days I barely have the energy to wake up, knowing that my left side grows colder, and my days grow longer. My dead alarm doesn’t bother me now, and I bask in the silence.
 Regret taints my future, and I no longer feel the need to imagine the stale dream of potential.
 My mouth had molded against yours. Grown with your chapped lips and biting teeth. They sit awkwardly now, and I don’t know what to do with them. Speaking doesn’t quite fit ok anymore, and words feel like invaders in my own mouth. I would say I wish I had it back now, the use of my tongue, and yet I do not know what I would do with it now.
 How do I stop the shaking in my pen? The ink jumps from the page, arguing against the words I wish to write. My fingers know something I don’t, I know they do – they twitch on certain letters and break through the paper at others. I wish they would tell me, for I feel so blind.
 I wish you hadn’t ran. I feel the leash choking me, pulling me somewhere I don’t want to be. I’ll catch up soon, I’m sure of it, and maybe ill hear your laugh again.