"It's not you it's me"

Perhaps this is true.

But it's me who is crying in bed now, because you decided you've had enough.

It's me who received a text (the first in a while - I should have known) that broke my heart.

It's me who had to call. To question.

It's me who tore down the train ticket and ripped it in two. 

It's me who ate my own weight in raspberry ripple ice-cream.

It's me who's gone from shocked to confused to wierd to sad to break down to fuck it to hate to anger to sadness again to crying to feeling empty.

I can't form explanations, points, or meaning.

I'm going to go to bed.

See if I can sleep, and not over think everything. Every moment. How could I have saved us?

You've jumped ship before I even thought we were sinking. We hadn't even gotten out of the dock.

And now I'm drowning.

That's a crap metaphor.

You've broken me.