Never knew that it's this difficult wanting to be afloat and loved. I held tight on your buoy, boy, and I put my lifeline on the rope, I wrote your number on my emergency card. The wave swept me once and I'm ashore, alone. I can't see you anywhere. It didn't work.

Don't be vile to me. I never wanted evil happening to anyone. I get on all fours, washes my face, tied my hair back and looked around—trying to see how I can leave this arid place. And what are the options? I'm stranded, and your smell still lingers, and it's actually romantic.

My baby, I can't talk much, I can't talk more. It is what it is and I did this to save myself. I get my parachute on, I padded my landing spot, I have the lights on to signal where I could land safely upon unexpected ejection and refusal. I did all the precaution.

I did, and falling doesn't feel like flying, but at least I don't have my bone crushed. I can still get up and shake the dirt off of my clothes. I still look pretty, I can still crack a joke, and I can smile while reassuring the worried crowd—don't worry, I'm still alive.

I think I'm going to be okay. My heart remains breakable. I'm glad that I have detached mysemf emotionally long time ago so that when it actually happened, I'm prepared, and I'm padded, and I'm ready to just march on and on. Moving on.

Baby, the island I'm stranded on is quiet. Only the whimsical wind carries the wave here, tickling my feet, and my sleep brought you coming back to me in my dream. But as you said, you better be the one choosing than to be chosen. So I'm... I'm sorry that I chose you.

And this shall be the last time I'll write about you.