It's too early to be crying already.
Especially when I'm the only one crying.
Why the hell do I still hurt? Or care? No. Not care. I hate that phrase. "I care about you." It's what people tell you when they don't want to say they love you in any way but they pity you. Why the hell do I still LOVE?
Screw this traffic. Screw these tears. Screw this hole in my lungs. Screw how hard I'm trying to not think of you and how easily you slap me in the face out of nowhere.
It's 7:42 am on a Monday. For those of you who wonder if Hell exists: I live it.
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