I suppose to miss you would be enough, only to miss you is simply all I feel. I wrote a love letter but I lost five out of the six pages so I thought it best not to send. I read a book , the book was bland, the words seemed to dance around the page making the outline of your face; I carried on reading it because – because I have no idea – because the image of you was too strong or because I hoped that if I reached the end I’d finally reach you.
Hopelessly I will continue this existence, noticing every single detail of each persons face I pass; I want to pass yours once more.
Day 2.1 is, as ever, a bore.
Day 2.1 is, as ever, a test.
Day 2.1 is, as ever, a never ending spell of loneliness.
Day 2.1 is, as ever, an end.
Day 2.1 is, as ever, a pathway to something –
something is, as ever, something.