I've been thinking a lot less about you and more about death. Sometimes the two go hand-in-hand. Just because you're not doing anything doesn't mean life isn't happening. One thing happens after the next, and before you know it, this is your life. Bright and shiny and right in front of your face. So close you can almost reach out and touch it, but not quite. Something inside you holds you back. Keeps you pressed to the mattress. Eyes plastered on the ceiling, unable to move. Eventually it stops hurting so badly, but the longing never goes away.