I want my mom, but not the mom I have. I want someone whose wisdom and decisions I trust enough to believe when they tell me I did the right thing, someone innocent of my sins. I want arms to cry in and I want to feel the safety and strength people look for in religion. Cause if I don't cry soon I'm afraid I'll shake apart into little pieces.

It's funny there are some mistakes you just make over and over and forget each time because you can't tell, when it comes down to it, whether you were right or wrong. I promise from now on to stay in my cubicle, in my text editor at my command prompt where there are right answers and it's easy to evaluate whether you've found them. I want to know, does it feel this way every time? Am I just deluding myself into thinking I've dismissed the best thing I ever had? Have I had these same achey thoughts every time I've said goodbye?

The hardest part is waiting to be sure. Wanting to believe that just a little time to clear heads is what's needed and after that you'll both realize where your responsibility is for making shit work how it does in the movies. And knowing that it's not going to end with a fairy tale, but with the same stubborn lonliness you vacationed from.

It's like a chemical addiction. The first few days you quit are the worst. Can't sleep without waking up suddendly thinking oh god, what the fuck did i do? Can't eat because your stomach is twisted all in knots trying to figure out if you're going to be ok. And so forth. The truth about breaking up is a set of merciless laws of sociology that everyone is susceptible to.

And all I want is to cry and never stop.