More than what adjectives can serve

Every little thing is pissing you off. The air in your room, the inbox full of his messages from yesterday, your sister clawing to get into my room, the shouting grandma, his mysteries, the phone vibrations leaving you more disappointed than you already were with every empty hope that it was him, even the need of having to breathe. And when you get so angry till you cry, you get so much angrier at yourself for being such a frail limping piece of mushed up wet tissue. Yet the slightest scent of him could leave you deranged and leg wobbly, melting every bit of hard up anger, or even the loudest war of your life through the ground. What about now?

What if the only person who could stop you from feeling this way was the person that was mad at you?