eight april
eleven : thirty-nine p.m.

i am trying to feel good about this. it isn't very easy. i sat in the bathtub, shivering in the burning water.

i keep imagining you, whimpering at her from the other side of the door. imagining the police showing up. imagining you walking around a lonely town, curling up on a park bench and crying. i hope it isn't raining there.