To call it gloomy then I'd sound ungrateful
I, myself the gloomy one
Not my lovely day

I really am grateful
Truly, truthfully

The urge to run to that cursed damn house and scream his name until my lungs give out

Come out and face me you coward of a shadow

A heavy sense of nostalgia

Your visits were such a sacred thing to me

I can't believe it's just a burning memory

Cry my eyes out > put cold spoons on my eyes > repeat

us, when?

Depression at its finest

A cup of tea now will make it all bearable

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Just how small they make me feel
And how magnificent you make me feel

Better than weeping honestly

Imagine waking up at 4 am to find your depressed mad wife doing a performance with circus music playing on the background