Maybe I'm in over my head. Or maybe I just the familiar contours of your body under the chalk white sheets of my bed. I don't know maybe this is normal. Maybe I've stopped being myself after you left. Maybe this is all a test. Maybe I've failed and I couldn't clean up the mess. Maybe that's why the rain suddenly feels colder on my skin. Maybe that's why whenever I try to apologize I don't know where to begin, or where to end. All these things that I've typed up in my mind I don't want to tell you, I just can't bring myself to hit send. Maybe I've fucked up and I won't admit it. Maybe I'm a coward. Seems like I've got all the time in the world. Maybe I should do something about it, I mean, every minute without you feels like an hour.

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