I’ve been thinking about how thin I can get so then maybe you’ll take me with you. If I take up less space maybe you’ll find room for me in your life. If I close my mouth more and the room doesn’t fill with words we don’t mean I won’t be able to hold you accountable for feelings you never had to begin with. Maybe if I can squeeze into a double small you’ll find somewhere for me in your arms, you’ll find a place for me to drown in your thoughts. And you’ll think “wow she doesn’t take up much room at all” maybe if my physical self wouldn’t drown on a sentence of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘are you mad at me?’ you’d find a place for me to go with you; a place for me in you. And maybe just maybe there’d be a home for me. And maybe just fucking maybe I’d be enough. I’d have to stop searching for love where it doesn’t exist and you’d see that I only do the things I do because more than anything I want you to love me too. More than anything I want you. I keep looking for something and I think I’m dying because this can’t be living. Should I keep searching for some kind of meaning?