Curry in my shoes.
Unexplained stains on my clothes.
Dog hairs everywhere.
Every single hair slide I own – gone.
Lots of sleep.
’I love you, Dog’.
Wait, they don’t love you like I love you.
Getting down on one knee.
Feeding F cider like a baby. <3
Every muscle in my body: ‘Emma, why?’
I sort of missed being hungover.
I definitely missed being drunk.
This is bad though and I just can’t stop thinking and it’s been a while since bad things have happened and I’ve actually really thought about them. Can’t-get-it-out-of-my-head kind of thinking. This is all wrong and a mistake and I’m confused. And my dreams are becoming more and more bizarre lately. I hope they’re not prophetic. And not even for my sake, but for yours.
I want that special thing again. And I want it to be real and not forced or pretended. By anyone. And I think I know what I want – or who I want – but it’s futile. Oh dear.