Q is for Quiet...

Things are too quiet. I can hear my heart beating. The tapping of my fingers on the keyboard echo down the hall. I've lived inside this room for almost a year. It used to be filled with all of these things: hate, love, desire, passion, distrust, confusion, anger, drugs, booze, women, baby steps, possible families, kisses, stolen kisses, kisses grabbed quickly on the way back to real life, burritos, religious candles, songs, lies and the occasional heart breaking confession...

If you have been keeping track, the countdown is over.

Twenty days, they flew by like fucking nothing. What do I have to show for them? Some heartburn, some new artistic tendencies, a friend or two, and my heart being taken from me.

That is what we all expected, isn't it.

I'm too drunk to fight or question. I'm going to my empty bed. I'll think of you...

17/26