In another world, nostalgia does not exist and we don’t ache to be anywhere because we have the ability to be where we ache to be. And in another world, I like writing on the back of the page and I have better mornings and coffee-stained hands. But I’m homesick with the thought of you that I feel a twinge inside me every goddamn second. And I hate writing on the back of the page and I never drink coffee because it tastes too bitter. But you love coffee, and they say a man is as good as what he loves so. So I guess you’re pretty terrible. 

And I guess it never came across your mind that whenever a sacrifice was made and I lost someone or something or perhaps became even more of a monster, I did it for you, I did all of it for you. Not because you asked me to, but because you never had the courage to ask. And in another world, that would have been enough. More than enough. 

But you still look as empty as you did before I met you. And I’m afraid that that’s all you will ever be. That empty is all we’ll ever be. 

My bladder needs to calm the fuck down. We are out of toilet paper and there is no way in hell I am going out all the way to the garage to get some more.