On the fourth day it was quiet. Sheets wrinkled, the bed was empty. On the fourth day everything had gone back to normal. It was almost as if it had never happened. It could have been nothing, but who really likes to think that. I like to lay back and wonder, to think that it was real, if only for that short time. If you fluff the pillows and straighten the sheets you could almost make it like it didn't happen, but what good will that really do. The nights you spend after you'll only wrinkle the sheets and shove the pillows to the side all over again, but now, like before, you'll be doing it alone. It's best if you remind yourself that it was good while it lasted. If you can manage, you might still have hope.

My skull is pounding and I can't seem to bring myself to bed. I feel helpless and conflicted and almost like I want too much in life. One day at a time right. Yes, I know. I choose now to take a step backward in life. I choose drugs.

I can list on one hand the things that would mean everything to me in life. On one hand lies my future to be determined. What hurts the most is knowing what I am capable of, the freedom I should have, yet I spend every day feeling as though I'm locked in a cage. It's so easy to get lost... These days, though, the fine line between being lost and hiding out is starting to blur and I'm forced to take in the possibility that I'll live the whole rest of my life alone and unsatisfied. It could happen. It would be a waste though; I have so much to give.

... and just like that... she disappeared all over again. It was almost like she was never there to begin with...