It was 2am in the morning, the room was quiet and it was not helping at all. You were laying down in bed, curled up into your blanket that didn't even shield you from anything now. Your phone was beside you, dark and silent

Four months, almost four months of softy smiles, 3 a.m. calls saying " I miss you ." But lately, you felt like you were chasing dreams that your not able to reach, like you were trying to keep a love alive with threads that are almost slipping through your fingers.

Tonight's argument had started small, just a comment about how distant he'd been.

He had said " You're overthinking again," over the phone, his voice was tired and distant.

" I wouldn't have to if you just talked to me, Simon. You barely even ask how I am anymore."

" You know how busy I am," he'd snapped again.

" And I'm not? I cry myself to sleep most nights, Simon!"

He always went quiet after that. That was the worst part, not the yelling one, but the silence after it and it always felt like a slammed door to your face.