this dead silence... i don't know what to tell of it.

I hate going to ink bar now. I hate listening to Dave Matthew's, because every word and every note is screaming your goddamn name.

all i have left of you are fragments - the dave matthew's badge with the elongated faces of everyone in the band, the bottle of baileys that you gave me which i have no heart to open, one of the 2 notebooks we took from a stranger when we were out together (the other is with you), the malcolm gladwell books i recommended so strongly and eventually bought for you so you could read them, the letters that I wrote when you were away which I never got to pass to you, the blue toy dolphin (you have the pink one) i bought which is still on a bag that i don't use anymore, the penn and teller bullshit link on my safari that i don't want to click anymore.

and worst of all, your number. i'm so afraid of not hearing a response from you that i don't even dare to dial the number anymore. it just rings and i never get to hear a voice at the other end. i send a message and it's like i sent a message into a black hole. i'm fucking scared. of trying to initiate conversation. of the fact that you never reply.

I'm hurting so much now and I don't know when this hell is going to end.