I guess I always knew it, she did too. It was never gonna work, it never will, with anyone at all. Screaming for help, in complete silence, how could they know?
I wanted to write but it's all too much, it's all been too much for too long. The little moments of joy aren't enough, the love I pour into myself isn't enough for this infinite void of mine.
So, from now on, I will just dream of living elsewhere, a new place, Ireland most likely, since London isn't really a possibility, nor Brighton, Bristol or the north. A shared flat with her, unless I'm just too awkward and weird to even do that and we end up not talking anymore. The story of my life.
The story of my life.
Just leave, like everyone else.
