I watch your sunlit face from my side of the couch. You never were one to give beds their proper meaning.
“Besides, it’s more fun this way, right?”
Your words echo through my mind these early morning hours. My head is pounding; I don’t ever remember us together without a bad hangover. But maybe it’s better this way. I can pretend the only thing pushing me on is drunken lust. I’d never admit it to you; I care, I care so fucking much. I care so much that my minds goes blank when I see you.
And this is how my heart goes: Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Bang. Silence.

HOLYSHITIWROTEADRABBLE. It sucks. It’s inconsistent and I lost my muse. I lost my will to write. Maybe one day I’ll get it back.