I stayed in bed, I didn’t move and I didn’t talk to anyone.
I nearly cracked and called you, but I hid my phone from myself and spent my day sat on my bedroom floor thinking about all the times you messed up.
I started to respond to my parents, only replying with the words yes or no. I moved to the sofa downstairs and laid there till 3 in the morning.
Day four was the worst. I called you and you allowed it to ring 3 times before clicking ignore, it showed me how real this is and proved how much more I care about you than you care about me.
My Mum forced me to go to the supermarket with her, a song you like came on the radio, I didn’t have time to stop myself from punching the radio, it’s broken now. Just like me, my Mum didn’t get mad she just looks sad.
I’m starting to talk more, one sentence at least.That was until my Dad came home with your favourite take-away meal, I tried to eat but I ended up spending the rest of the evening in the bathroom vomiting up the lining of my stomach.
I woke up on the bathroom floor, I didn’t move all day.
I miss you but I don’t want to think about it anymore.
There’s something about you that drives me crazy,
the way you run your pencil across paper like you and the led are racing,
the way you speak to me quickly and walk away right after,
like you want to ask me something, but you’re not ready for the answer;
the way you think I question your competence or hold some sort of grudge,
when I actually just hate myself for wanting you this much.