Oh, hi. It’s you again. You keep doing that thing where you open the door to my head and everything else gets flushed out like kaput. Theb, alone, there you’d be. Attention whore.

Because it’s only in my dreams when, where you’re ever around.

And what was, what could have been, and what is. Ignorance truly is bliss.

Your happiness, I do not relish knowing of. Your pains, I wish not to hear of. Let me be ignorant of your accomplishments, be ignorant of your woes — so that I do not bear the frustration of my absence in your celebration, of my hand too far, miles off, to dry your tears away.

Let me be ignorant of you. So that in bliss, I will find that there can be life without you.

You are the Earth to me, the Moon. But to you, the Earth, there’s Sun. Someday though, with awed eyes — again — you’ll look at me…and I’ll I’m hoping for is that your gaze won’t last for but a day, or an hour, but for eternity.

Let me eclipse the Sun forever, Earth, and we’ll be happy.

Who I achingly miss the most. Click it. Just click.

I’m sick of you, so sick I can barf my intestines out. I bet you didn’t even know. That’s how good an actor I am — so good I deserve a Golden Globe nod.