The morning was awful, but then...Am I not awful? For being here clouding his space.
For having no where else to go. Now I feel like a parasite.
The tears feel childish as they fall.
I reserve a storage space, not knowing where it is that I will store myself yet.
I wait, wait for him to leave the flat. So that I can take everything apart.
Throw as much of my life away. Lighten the load. Make it quicker to escape.
"I don't know why you don't love me"
Where is the point,...
where is the point in trying to explain that I do. Just not in the way he deserves or needs any longer.
How many times can I try to explain my self?
Everything warps. Swelling with guilt. Guilt and sorrow.
For being this...this apparent monster of a person.
I feel like an intruder, upon the sofa.
I move from the room as he enters.
I dare not breathe.
For the air is his not mine.
"Whose fault is it?"
Well, why not?
Why not let's blame it all on me.
If it makes it easier.