24 = Nothing

I have so much to tell you, the problem isn’t that I’m running out of time, I’m running out of room, this book is filling up, there couldn’t be enough pages, I looked around the apartment this morning for one last time and there was writing everywhere, filling the walls and mirrors, I rolled up the rugs so I could write on the floors, I’d written on the windows and around the bottles of wine we were given but never drank, I only wore short sleeves, even in the winter time, sweetheart, I've written for much too long, but I'll never be able to bring myself to a halt, forgive me.