Scratching the surface of paper, staring at the screen in front of me. I'm hollow. Pathetic. Really. Replaying each scenes in my head just to let you linger, replacing sentences or trying to catch a glimpse of signs I had missed. What had I done wrong. Why didn't you choose me. Want me. Pick me. It was you and me against the world. Now, I am just out of your world. A shadow that you seek to look behind from afar time to time. How could you ask that of me.

Texting on a night like this when your body is next to another and maybe underneath yours in a second. Does it make sense when your telling me not to reply? Stop. What is left that you have yet to break? No. I will not give you that privilege.

You are a sin to respond.