When will I be whole again?
When will I pick myself up?
When does this end?
I'm tired. Bone-achingly tired. My eyes are parched and my soul is withered. Isn't it enough? When does it stop? Just when I think I'm better, the anger creeps back in. I'm not me, I'm some raving, angered, screaming ball of nothing inside. The worthlessness and the pain, they come in and beat me upside my head, then leave me wondering who the hell did all of that. I want the ride to stop I want to get off. I want to be who I was then. One thousand, six hundred and nine days ago. Back when I knew bliss and I took it for granted. I want to be her, looking at the other possible realities and thinking, 'Hmmm, unlucky her.' This rock on my chest doesn't help me float.
I want to go outside and scream it. I miss you. I need you. I haven't forgotten you. Not for one of the 8335872000 seconds since I was happy with you. I feel like it's that next day, 1608 days ago. That's how raw it all is. I am frozen right there, losing you every day, over and over again. All the smiles, the tears, the love, the laughter, the raging hormones of a teenager, more love, leaving me and coming back again. You'd walk out that door and you'd come back. You would. I walked out that door, and I'm never, ever coming back. Not who I was, not anymore. I left with you.