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 it is raining and cold here and i miss you. i want to pack my things so i can visit you but it's huge and exhausting, and like usual i can't find the energy to do it. instead i am drinking coffee with too much sugar, and looking at my room of too many boxes and too much stuff and writing down memories of too many things we never got around to doing. i can't get dressed. the clothes sit cold and pressed in front of me and i can't put them icy sleek on my limbs. i can't shower. i can't leave my hair cold and dripping down my back when all i see are dead-snake pigtails leaking blood and steam choking me