I’d pour all my hopes into a jar and store them in the attic, if you promise you’ll come back, tell me you’d stay. I put myself to sleep drinking a glass of water and dreams but tonight, it’s just emptiness and me. The door is half open, windows are half shut and I rummage through the wardrobe for something that smells like you. I’d take a pill, swallow my disquiet; it’s about time. Then I feel a leak in my brain, a cold feeling of ease. Is this what I need? Someday you’d write to me. Maybe.