Emptying the filthy gutters of my mind

Last night, I fell asleep hugging Monsieur Coucheur and crying.

I was scared.

I thought I’d messed up very very badly.

I love you too much to every want to lose you. I hope you know that.

I am a royal fuck up.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

I feel so fucking vulnerable. Like I could shatter at any moment.

Oh.

Something extraordinarily interesting: A while back, a woman came into work. Late 60s or early 70s. Stark on her tan arms were rows of pale, thick scars.

Last night I dreamt I moved back to New Zealand and I never got to say goodbye to you. I was with my old friends and I broke down and they couldn’t make me feel better and I missed you so much.

I get a weird feeling in my stomach when I go back in your pictures to when you were with her.

I know this is so needy.. But someday I’d love for you to tell me why you fell in love with me. And what you love now.

Ugly as sin.