Write about all the stuff that's making you sad. Write about how you want to get into your car and drive off into the moonlight at 2 in the morning because you can't think of anyplace you'd rather be or not be than in your car in the middle of a clear night maybe with someone you can talk to who might understand being in pain and not being able to always express it, not because of fear or distrust of people, but because of self-expectations and a deep-seated unwillingness to believe that there's anyone you can truly rely on.
Drive south into the desert because you left part of yourself there that won't come back until you go and stand on the top of a cliff in the moonlight and physically pull it back around you like a shawl. Drive towards the springtime that has already glazed the desert in green and gold and the soft pinks and yellows and whites of buds just beginning to open. Watch the gold of the sunrise kiss the cliffs and make them glow copper and neon orange just beyond the edge of the green valley you used to see from the open-air hallways outside the apartment where you only saw dawns like that when you'd stayed up all night waiting for them so you could finally shut your eyes.