  I can't be forced to write. I can't be forced to have deep amazing thoughts. How I wish I could, because I want nothing more than to make her happy. But when she is continually asking me to write about her, it breaks my heart that I can't. I was tired. I was far too tired for the deep thoughts she was seeking anyhow. There are no thoughts I've been hiding from her.
Just actions. "I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry. Like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one could hope to achieve. I want to rise to the occasion, meet all of their demands" It's early. For now I'm content with my life. Again, she feels close, it feels like she wants to be here, too. But how long will it last? How long until she's back to yesterday? "If you don't, I'll start drinking like the way I drank before, and I just won't have a future anymore" 
