Dear Nick…

I am doing really shitty. I still call out for you or for the dog. When I realize neither of you are around, things become a bit more grey. They're getting pretty dark.

Your mom called and I had to be the one tell her that you'd left and stopped speaking to me completely. This added a bit more grey to an already dim day. She wants to “hang out” sometime.

I dyed my hair purple and felt nothing. The bangs help to hide my eyes. Everything has changed. I want to scream and break things. I can't sleep and sometimes it is hard to swallow.

I listened to Glycerine and took it personally. I couldn’t catch my breath so I smoked another cigarette. I wallowed in muddy sadness and wondered if I would ever get clean.

I haven’t turned my cell phone on in 10 days and the guy on the couch never really listens. I've forgotten the definition of conversation. I am beginning to talk less to myself and even less to others. Soon I will achieve total silence.

I did not go to work again today. I don’t care to go outside. I rearrange the furniture every night. I have 4 chairs and the loveseat still has that one huge rip but who really cares.

My neighbor checks on me every morning. She offered to do my laundry. I told her that would be a waste... I have nowhere to go. My eyes are always red and puffy. I told her I just really like to cry.

Loser is on repeat. Your roommate is already aware of this fact. He is unaware, however that I am actually far lower than he believes me to be. I can barely play D chord.

Bobby asked me out on a date. What the fuck is a date and who the fuck is Bobby?

Where am I? Oh shit, this is my apartment. No one here is you.

Someone finally bought a piece of my shitty art. I was still not encouraged to pick up a paint brush. I notice I find tie dye jokes entirely too funny. I guess you can say I'm living to dye.

Just because you don’t believe something, doesn’t mean it isn’t true, because I really did love you .