the words in my head, the letters written and unwritten in my head, the rosary of letters i massage through thumb and forefinger, they're what keep me sane.

but sometimes they slip and sometimes the words get away from me and i find myself talking about how the nights stretch on and on and i just need to know if you've given up, because if you've given up i can go ahead and take the kick to the stomach, kick to the face, kick to all those damn promises i thought i heard you make, and stop hoping.

stop that god damn hoping.

the words, they calm me, the typing, it calms me. it gives me a focus, even if it's typing to no one, even if it's typing this bullshit i hate saying because it is weak, it is angst-filled, it is stupid. it is what causess all my problems.

i've learned a lesson, emily, i want to say, i want to write in a letter or tell her. i learned that people like me best from a distance.

but it all sounds like i'm trying to guilt trip. it all sounds like i'm trying to do something more than i am.

i dont know what im trying to do.

the days come and the days go and i think of you and i think of you and i think of you, all three different, and more, new people, more, older people, and i just want to type the same words over and over because it's rhymthic, its lulling, its peaceful, it makes me forget.

but not for long.

all i know to do is give all of me to someone. and it's wrong.

it'd almost be nice, sometimes, for the words to stop, so i'd be empty inside, in my head, i'd just be able to sleep, i'd just be able to sit here without thinking about how i have no idea how to fix myself when i can't even afford to fix my car.

i'm scared of seeing you again. i'm scared of making a scene. i'm scared you'll hug me. i'm scared i won't let go.

and the moon tonight, oh, it was beautiful, driving towards it, away from the sunset that painted my rearview mirror pink. it was full and so big. the road was empty and stretched forever.

suck it up, i tell my friends. suck it up, i tell asses who whine. suck it up. suck it the fuck up, you did this to your own damn self. suck it up. a litany. a lullaby.

suck it up. suck it up. suck it up.

grow taller, grow bigger, be fucking better, suck it up.

how are you going to survive when the words grow out of control and there will be no one there to tell you it's okay? no one there to remind you there's a tomorrow and there was a yesterday, a yesterday when you made her smile or him smile or the dog wag its tail.

how will you survive when you have to rely on yourself for reminders?

how will you survive without it?

you won't.

and the moment it falls from your hands, the moment the keyboard breaks or there's no pencil and paper, the moment when the words are forced into the cyclic patterns tread in your head, the movements that go around and somehow always lead back to it being your fault you're not safe enough, what are you going to do?

your chest isn't big enough for the weight of all that air.

something's going to cave.