Sleepwalkin'

am i crazy? what am i doing? i keep writing these letters to him. i don't give it to him of course. it's more like therapeutic and what not. but i'm constantly writing to him. sometimes i get into the heat of writing to him, whether poetic or just rambles, that i fool myself into depression. and at the end of it all, i just want to crumple everything and throw it all away in a trashcan. i would text him but never press send. i'm starting to think i have some sort of obsessive nature. it's really not good.

what am i doing. what am i doing. writing all this nonsense. thinking nonsense. waiting for nonsense. i just want to give up on love. sit in the corner and play that electric guitar my brother gave me for my 18th birthday. Be at a bar and forget it all. Drown myself in other thoughts. Other men. Other wants.

... New York was impractical, every bit of it. Houston is practical, everything everyone. Diego was impractical. I wanted that again, living in this practical community. He was like an escape.