leave me in the cold, wait until the snow covers me up so I cannot move, so I'm just embedded in the frost

Sometimes I'll write pieces in my head. Like when you're sat across me, and you're typing something on your phone-- and I'm looking out the window, at all the people walking through the street. It's like a typewriter trying to put down sentences in my head. Like when we're sat together chatting, all of us, and I'm silent. It's not always so silent in my head, when I am writing about smiles and laughter and cries in my head. Or when they're sat chatting for themselves, and I'm eavesdropping. It's my way to memorise all the things I love, and all the things I don't love. Like when you said that thing with a careless shrug that made me want to cry. Or when she looked at me with aghast, spitting out the words she'd held in for so long. Or when she turned angry and we had a proper fight for the first time. It's like an endless writing machine in my head, and I don't know how to stop it.