Time goes quick and slow and every other speed, but he isn’t leaving my mind; he isn’t leaving my dreams to me. I left him and he used to shout and break things. I’m all the way across the world and all I can do is miss him. That’s pretty fucked up. It isn’t even fair. I can’t move on because he isn’t dead and he isn’t sorry. He’s out there patiently waiting with smug assurance that I’ll be too cold not to come home. But he’s wrong. He might not be gone from my thoughts but I’m fucking gone from his life. I’m not wasting the time I’ve spent crying. I’d rather never have to cry over him again. Talking only leads to shouting, false promises, and horror. Just leave. Just…please leave.