It was foggy the other night, so I decided to text you. I still got a response, I expected you to be gone– gone like you never even existed to begin with. This is how you want to wake up. This is how you want to leave an impression. You save your favorite quotes inside of a journal right beneath your bed under those star striped lines, you kept the best poetry for your eyes only. But you always shared a few words wth me. I don’t know how to live without you, so I’ve been expecting the worst. Lately your depression likes to swell, so I run out of ways to apologize. I don’t know how to make things right, but if the weather is foggy and my eyes don’t act right when tears fall– how many years will we take up to truly try? I’m tired of trying. I want to do. I want to be a doer. I want to live. There’s a funny thing about living, no one knows how to do it. Everyone’s just stumbling around a path that leads to a cliff and every now and then you fall into a deep hole and start wishing this was minecraft and you just happened to have a random shovel with you to dig carefully enough to make steps out of this hole. But you don’t. Cause this isn’t a game. It’s real life and it sucks and that’s the truth but somehow, every time I think I’m done with this whole “life” thing, that little laugh you did this one time when you were reading to me rings at the back of my head and suddenly it’s all around me and I just want to hear more. Because every time I’m done you reel me back in and I just want to sit beside you and have you read me a story till I fall asleep because if I wake up and you’re still there, it’s all I’ll ever need.