There are other ways for people to fall apart

That doesn’t end up with your father killing himself.

And decades later, somewhere in Munich, a woman leaves a hundred angry voicemails and

Starts to hypothesise about how self-inflicted abuse is just a desperate annotation of self-love.

When you choose not to reply to them, she weighs her chances of ever getting a reply against

Tired, angsty teenage daffodils who only rant about how the only valid definition of loneliness

Available on the internet is a house with two windows filled with people who all want to die, but

In reality, just want to wake up into warmer hands and not collapse every time someone.

Mentions how they might forgive them for regretting all those whom they have ever loved.

The conclusion of her hypothesis makes her nauseous, and the daffodils are all cowards and

How they can go fuck themselves.

In about a month, he would return to the voicemails with ignorant replies about how he is

Driving away with someone new who ceases his hands like a prayer, and how they intend on

Robbing an antique store next. Instead, in a few hours, due to being intoxicated on

Self-deprivation, she will try to choke him but give up in the middle to talk about how she has

Uncomfortably lingered around strangers’ doors and whispered: “How he is just clumsy and how

He keeps breaking and re-breaking your heart over pretty fragile little objects, and how stupid

She feels for cradling to his selfish craving for wanting tender moments where she pretends to

Care or how he is furious with all of his eventualities.”

The replies will make you want to reconsider redefining loneliness as a house with more

Windows and with more forgiving people, and how in time, grieving for her will make him

Euphoric, and that the daffodils will soon kill themselves.

How the strangers will play the saxophones at their funerals, and soon enough, she will let go of her

Prayer, realising maybe everyone, for the most part, has always been afraid of water.