If I seemed easy to ignore, it’s because I just stopped talking. I left my thoughts to tend to themselves – it didn’t feel like rotting. But this silence – this quiet – it doesn’t solve my problems. It enables them – I’ve allowed myself to become complacent. And now I can’t seem to connect. Have I lost you? Or have I lost myself by beating myself down, bleeding weekly in strangers basements, in stranger places than I ever wanted to go? Now it’s cold again. I’m disappointed and tired and low. I want the summer songs, I want to feel connected but I don’t know how. I give up again. I’m done trying to change. I’ll just retreat to my room and write these suicidal songs that you’ll never read along to. They’ll never reach you.