I have red poems about being left and about heartbreaks. They were about empty bottles and letters never sent. They were about numbness and nights, full of hangovers and stupid decisions. The poems; they gave me occupation while tumbling into an unknown destination. But I can't follow their actions. I can't drink because my body isn't used to that toxic fluid anymore. I can't enjoy hangovers and passed away nights, my mind is overwhelmed by the annoying sound and the dazzling lights. But I wrote a letter to you. I want to throw it into your face. And then, when you've red it all, I want to disappear into a galaxy beyond time and space.