Sometimes -- like now -- I wish I could write. Like, really, really, write. Because then, I could express just how heartbroken I am. Instead, I've got a million cliches, none of which can tell. I haven't felt this sad in a very long time.
I'm often alone, but rarely lonely.
My head aches.
The remedy feels worse than the disease. When will the lump in my throat go away? Will the stinging in the corners of my eyes stop? Will I feel better in a week? A month?
I hate it here.