Letters to Heather part whichever

I understand why you go out every night. I know that it's to stay busy so everything isnt so... there. I know the drugs, the alcohol, is to block everything out because that's the only thing you can think of to make it all go away. And I understand why you'd do it.
But at the same time, while I'm sitting here almost GLAD you do it, because at least you're getting some relief, I want you to stop. I want you to come home and talk to me for hours. But I know... I know it hurts to do that because then it's right there, ripping out our insides, shoving it in our faces that this is the only way we can 'be together'. But as much as it hurts, I want it. Because it's one hell of a lot better than sitting in my room everynight debating upon whether or not to call you. Because I know, I KNOW that when I do, you'll be busy and you'll tell me you'll call back and I'll feel terrible because you dont have time for me and I know you're not going to call back. So I lay in my bed for the rest of the night, no being able to MOVE because the sadness is so strong that it hurts to do anything but lay there and cry.
It's the summer time. It feels JUSt like last summer , when I was falling in love with you. When I had my hopes set on so many things. I convinced myself that by that time next year, everything would be alright. Everything would be better. But here we are, and everything's the exact same. And it makes me feel terrible. This keeps me in bed in the morning, laying there attempting to feel nothing while I'm feeling everything. Every little thing... I feel every dust particle floating in the air, gracing my body. I feel every dead skin cell I shed fall onto the dirty sheets I'm laying on. I can feel the emptiness of the bed, my house, all those miles between us and I know that there is nothing I can do about it. So I lay there, no will to do anything.
I want to see you so badly. But I know when I do, it will be blissful every second I'm with you but as soon as you're gone I'll go back to this, and I'll have to wait in uncertainty, not knowing when I'll feel that relief again. No one can make me feel better anymore. No one but you. And you go out every night, searching for that relief. Are you finding it? Oh, if you're not, just please go home, go home and call me. Call me and close your eyes and I'll be right there. I'll cry to know I'm really not, but pretending is the closest I can get right now.
This summertime is ripping me apart from the inside out. I cant eat or sleep. I want to cry and I do. I have to fake that I'm happy. But every minute that passes is harder to get through than the last and I have no idea how much more of this I can take.

Please come home tonight. Please lay by my side and hold me. Tell me that it's going to be alright because I really cant believe it anymore.