there's unfinished coffee on the table.
and i've had a broken sleep.
my hair is a mess, like my heart and somehow, their condition is all your fault.
there's a door between us that is slightly unhinged from all the leaving and the staying, the banging and the breaking, the tearing apart and the sewing back.
i wonder what will happen to us when it falls apart.
will i have to need a better one to keep you out
or will you finally take advantage of the door not being there at all?
sue me for hoping for the latter
