Every half an hour, every day, you’re online. Green circles next to a tiny picture of your pretty face.
And I wonder who you’re talking to, because it certainly isn’t me.
Last online 3m ago.
And my message is still unread. Like a piece of junk mail piled up behind a door in an empty house. A cheque left uncashed. Old clothes still with their tags.
And I tried. I HAVE TRIED to be chill. To let it all wash over me. But today I’m sick and all I want is to hear from you.
I tried.
I tried.
I tried
I cried.
I tried.
I tried.
I’m tired.
Tonight, I feel like I’m worth more.
Friday 22 June 2018
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