Belief.

I can't believe you still read this bullshit. 

The images in my head of the things I think are going on are images of pure terror. 

Some worse than some of my t shirts.

And as I lay here looking at the ceiling, counting the lights over and over, I know there will never be more than eight. 

Two of the lights are out. 

And it kind of reminds me of us. 

But then again, everything reminds me of us. 

I can be watching an IHOP advertisement and think 

"Wow. Last time I ate at IHOP, she still loved me. And I was just waiting to kiss you when you got home."

I wish we hadn't done what we did... Because that's why I'm so attached to you. 

I don't regret it. 

I just wish it meant as much to you as it did to me.