So I keep seeing your face. I almost don't have the energy to write this because I know it doesn't mean shit. I need to be able to tell someone, but I can't. There isn't a single soul that I can talk about this to... Universe, woah! Just completely circular, back to how it was before. "...when I thus accused myself he sometimes seemed to desire an explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring of delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had presented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my convalescence. I avoided explanation, and maintained a continual silence concerning the wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that I should be supposed mad; and this in itself would forever have chained my tongue. But, besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill my hearer with consternation, and make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of his breast. I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for sympathy, and was silent when I would have given the world to have confided the fatal secret. Yet still words like those I have recorded would burst uncontrollably from me. I could offer no explanation of them; but their truth in part relieved the burden of my mysterious woe." Never have I identified more with a literary paragraph so many times during the course of my short life. It still doesn't help, and there is still a pressure in my chest. Make it stop? Hahahaha

Sucks

You know what sucks? I don't think I'll ever get over you. I don't think I'll ever be okay with my life without you. God dammit. It actually still hurts sometimes.

That sucks.