Time isn't always a quantity. Sometimes it can rather be a concept. Like shady days and long hours. These aren't countable, and I know so because I lost count. They're constant and yet expanding. And you're really stuck but still moving. Because you can't be stuck in a concept. It isn't tangible, right? Then why do these hours weight you down and chain your limbs? Why is your breath becoming labored and are your thoughts smudged? If all this is just abstract then why does your body ache? Your chest's on fire, and it's too cold to exist.

My head is really heavy and full of so much crap. Maybe it's just ill nutrition. I shouldn't have starved myself for the past four days. And maybe I should've drank more water. I remember I drank a cup when I woke up, yesterday. I don't know if I am punishing myself or just merely not interested in holding on to dear life anymore. But I know I am not leaving this depressed couch any sooner. I also know that I don't want to.

When I was a kid, I used to hate sleeping. I hated when my mother made me go to bed early and I woke up early in the morning promising myself to make up for what I've missed while sleeping. Sleep was a waste of time. A sanctuary for the weak. Years passed and I just was proved right. Sleep is an escape route sometimes. But I never knew I'll need such an escape one day.

It must be my systems failing because the ceiling can't be swaying. And I know I am dizzy because why else will my world be spinning. It feels like I am about to faint but my eyes wouldn't give in. I persist, by instinct, although I prefer not. I feel drunk.

When I grabbed my phone, I wasn't planning on anything. I just wanted to get a hold of it. But then my fingers worked their way through my keypad and typed down her number. And as I dialed, I must've realized that I had nothing to say and that it was a serious mistake because I almost puked out of apprehension. And I waited for her to pick up, I remembered she wasn't going to. And although I was supposed to feel relieved, my heart ached a bit.

"...leave a message after the tone, beep..."

I was silent for a moment, thinking about just ending the call and finally giving in to sleep. But my big mouth didn't agree.

"It's me, Richard. I guess you know that already...I just wanted to say that I miss you," my voice was weak and shaky, "and that I am sorry...I don't expect you to forgive me. You might even delete this without listening to it. And I don't mind. I know I messed up. And I just can't keep this to myself anymore. I am so sorry, Hazel. I am sorry I was childish. I am sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friend. And I am sorry I ruined your day. I know I am annoying and overly dramatic. I know I am a mess. I keep trying to control you or put a label on you. Every day I try to make sure you're mine, when you're only yours. I forget you owe me nothing, and I push you too far. You made it clear from the beginning that I don't own you and I will never do, but I never let it be. I promised you to coincide but failed to," words were becoming heavier than stones, and I knew I was too close to unintentionally halting, "this isn't me asking for forgiveness. This is me making sure you know that I will love you now and later and forever. If I die now or in fifty years, I will die with only you on my mind. No matter w..." I went numb. Everything gradually blacked out.