I deleted his number. Both of them. To stop calling him ever again.

But you see, I can't erase them from my memory. Just ask me for his number, and I can tell it to you without glancing at any notes.

Funny, isn't it. The things we tell ourselves to do. Delete his number. Stop calling. Stop smsing. The brain and the heart at war.

You tell yourself one thing as you swallow the pills. You heart tells you another when you open your eyes from a drug-induced sleep. You check your phone. You heart soars when you see "3 new messages" and plummetes again when you see that none are from him.

You cry yourself to sleep. And dream of running away from demons. You wake up and force yourself to face another day. As soon as you can, you rush home only to crawl under the blankets. You listen to Hope laugh at your wish of hearing the doorbell ring or the phone to vibrate to display that number that you didn't save as you shiver from the humid air all around you.

Cold inside.

You sleep and dream of being together. Only to awake to more tears and dissapointment.

That's when you wonder why you put yourself through this in the first place. Why did you allow another human being to put you down so low that you just want to die. You wonder why it was happening. Again. And what your mistake was this time. Knowing full well that this time, you were behaving yourself one hundred percent. And that you didn't do anything wrong.

Still.

It's happening.

You swallow more pills.

And wish to never wake up.

Because there is no explanation. No one left to blame. The hurt inside is just too painful to bear.  

And the only person who can make it better and take it all away just doesn't give a f*ck anymore.

Sleep.

Just sleep.