I'm a New York boy, Amy. Remember? That's my identity. I'm a bad kid in this town. I used to smoke, just like all the other bad bad New York boys.

You do to me what a cigarette used to.

You make every thing floating and dark and soft. I take you in every way I can stand to. You make the world better. You addict me.

You stop time.

When I'm with you, looking at the sky feels better. Looking at anything is prettier, and more poetic. Smooth. Seamless. I can't feel bad, I don't know any hurt. I can be the person that I wish I was all the time; funny and smart and quick and attractive, and I can understand things when I'm with you that make no sense when you leave me.

You make me feel like I'm cheating somehow. You make me feel like it shouldn't be this easy to be happy.

I'm better when I'm with you, you make me want to do the things and feel the things and be the things that I should be. You make everything *closer*. You make me feel thin inside, and focused, and sure. You make everything come to the surface. You make it so easy for me to *feel*.

I want you when you're gone.

I need you when you're near.

You enter my mind at the strangest times, Amy.

And you're killing me slowly. And I can't even feel it, because everything else is just so damn good.

You make me feel like a person, and the only cost is the little bit of death you put inside me every day.