It wasn't just the fact that you left me and didn't pack your things, you said you wanted to come back. I took you to the airport myself that night and thought I'd see you again, three weeks was agreed upon. I spoke to you before, said that I was afraid you would stay there, sometimes there's stuff that I sense. Oh babe, you said then and held me, I would never leave you, you are my man even in bad times. Smiling, the two of us had forgotten what I said. We never argued, so why stress and all that. There was no reason for the worries that was logical, although it was strange, the feeling was so tangibly close when I saw it coming. I'm not checking, still not. I can't see anything anymore. It's been a year, probably more, but nothing is clear. Because grief for you blocks my every view, I don't understand it. I'd love to be happy again, but apparently that's not possible.
But it'll be okay. Life is hard. But it will be okay. Dreams die quickly and rot. But it will be okay. I stopped smoking weed and whiskey has no effect. There is still no sign of healing. But it'll be okay.
It wasn't the hard blow that hit me when your call came. So glad to hear you, I guess I missed that you sounded different. The voice waved differently. My blood ran grotesquely down my hand, I didn't know where to go, and I started to ram my fist into the wall. I wanted to die. I didn't want to see myself looking like that. Blood on my arm smeared with tears, I screamed silently. Throat closed, trouble breathing, couldn't feel anything, was frozen in place, frozen in the neck, eyes staring at the door in our room, in our apartment, in our bed. Kneeled on our carpet, stained our wall while punching. Our phone in hand and on our ear as the words came that were the separation of our hearts and death of our dreams. Chorus: Because what's killing me is more than the separation, more than loneliness in every moment and in every mood. More than any memory of you that always hits me whether I think about it or not because the pain is internal. Follow me to the end of Terra. Psychological terror tires me out, but when I dream I feel you. It's sad that you decide to exaggerate the problem between us both and not write to your best friend. But I have an idea why: I was so possessive and stupid, you had to isolate yourself to somehow escape me. I didn't even know what was going on, whether you were alive or dead, I prayed that God would show me that he was big and would help out of trouble. I can feel you, somewhere deep inside me I feel you, know that you are with me, even if both are silent and neither speaks. Wherever you are, at home with mom and kids, with a job or not, community college, it doesn't matter to me. It's still hard for me to pretend you don't exist. I resist talking worse and I won't. I turn around on the streets and could swear that you were there, recognize yourself in strangers with braids on their bikes... I have hallus because I want to see you, just with you wants to talk, wants to finally settle the matter, wants to understand your point of view, wants to tell you: separation was shock without therapy. I finally want to enjoy my life again, but I don't know how.
Chorus:

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