misbehavin' | scömìche

i'm havin' a good time

June 28, 2017, three days since Mitch died

My love,

I didn't eat dinner last night. I didn't want to. Not without you.

I didn't eat breakfast this morning, either. I wasn't hungry.

Now I'm currently just curled in a ball on the couch, writing in this stupid notebook and wishing you were here.

Can you tell me why I'm writing these notes? Please? Because I honestly have no idea.

Oh, great. Would you look at that. I'm crying.

Please come back. Please come home. I need you, Mitchie. I need you so badly. I want to die without you. I need to die without you.

I thought you were okay. Why weren't you okay? Why didn't you tell me something was wrong? You know I'd do anything in my power to help you, so why didn't you tell me?

It's my fault. It's my fault. It's all my f*cking fault.

I hate myself.

Yours,

Scott xx