i don’t really write much to you and that’s a problem of mine. it’s not like i don’t think about you-- more than not, you know that something is always wrong with me. usually by my own hands, i can’t blame the weather for the rain. i can’t blame my habits for the pain, no one asked me to not keep myself healthy. my mental health isn’t always my best friend, i’m not kind to myself and i’ve been meaning to get better. have i been doing better? the world is such a strange place, for you my darling-- i’ll sleep easy tonight. I know I don't always check your smile, weigh your silence against the labels I spend every night peeling from your skin. I know I don't always return your messages right away, sometimes the world spins through my fingers, and I want to fall towards your light, but my pockets are too full of paper I've been burning to keep the nights going. I know you can hold yourself up, but you're tired of doing it. and I would apologize for only coming around when my feet are tired of chasing down the horizon, but you've always wanted another five minutes of sleep - you can't ruin me, I'm already yours.