It is these wee hours that old love comes back to haunt me.
Still fresh, like a new picked scab, is G. But that's not a surprise anymore.
There are a hundred songs that remind me of him.
Why go?
Because he has to.
G needs to get out of my damned heart. I need to make space for other people.
It is these wee hours that old loves haunt me the most, that the love of my friends is so distant, leaving too many cracks for memories to seep in to.
I try to occupy my time shopping for jewellry on Ebay, but I know I won't really spend any money.
I need someone with good charp nails to scratch my back. You have no idea how itchy it is. I wish I had one of those wall mounted back scratchers, like cats have.