Your apology is eight years too late I want to say, but I don’t. I tell you it’s okay. You ask me if I hate you, I reply that I don’t. Why would I. You were only such a little fragment of all the unfortunate things to happen.

I was young and naive, which was your excuse?

I’ve learnt that you don’t always have to be a people person, you don’t always have to be up for adventures and little get togethers, if you’re exhausted, let your body rest. Stop keeping up with the world, take care of yourself before anything. If time is necessary to heal take as much as it requires, if surviving becomes hard slow your pace but don’t stop, never stop.

I know how it feels to live on the verge of not wanting to be alive. Constantly trying to convince yourself to exist when your brain goes fuck this no.

I’ve made an interesting observation. People think of you only if you come up on their timelines often.

You know what we never recovered from? Your lies.

One year, one year since I woke up to a life changing news, one year since I made a choice to let go. One year of struggle, depression. One year of running in circles. One year since I’ve last been okay.

You and what we had is something I’ll forever look for, I miss everything I used to feel because now that those feelings aren’t there anymore; I feel so very empty. You took me from myself and I’m nothing but the skin of what I used to be.

Loneliness runs though my veins as waves crash and kiss my toes. What a rhythmic combination of emptiness.

When you feel like the world is your enemy, how do you convince yourself it’s not?

All the people around you, they see you breaking into pieces and yet they don’t care. 

I wish it was easier to explain every time I disagreed with your norms I was choosing myself over you, you may not be just somebody in my life but I hope you understand how I would choose myself over you any time, every day. Because I fought all my wars with my self, I barred all my scars. And today you ask me to not be myself, be something else, be something more pleasant and I don’t fucking understand how you can ask someone to be anything but themselves. 

It’s funny when hearts break you do not hear cracks or the muscles pull apart, but it does. At least you feel it does. Endless pain, you can’t stay where it starts or where it ends. Your face, your body. Your lips can barely move & eyes wont blink as they shield a thousand tears.

You lose your appetite. Your life appears meaningless. As if you had only one reason to live. Your numbness only lasts a fair while till you breakdown. You hate yourself. You wanna kill yourself. But then you remember the people you love the most. Thank god you remember.