Damaging thoughts buzzed around my head like maggots, picking at every little detail. Part of me felt that my sadness was over-extended into a melodramatic script; the premeditated lines hiding undertones of self-absorbed poignancy. Still, I held the booklet in my hand like a key to getting out of bed that day. No matter how many times I flipped through the pages, I could only read the line I currently rested on. The future sat blank and unknown. I could easily reminisce, but the pages became harder to maneuver and recite through tear stains and anger-filled crumpling.
I've barely looked you in the eye. The ground held my stare like a magnet. Looking up would make me face the void again; the absence of what I used to see.
