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You’re scared
to open your eyes
because you don’t
want to know the truth.
You don’t want the empty space
that you speak to every day
to become a visual.
You lost the ability to breathe
when they told you.
They told you it’s been
2 years,
4 months,
and 27 days.
But in your head she’s still here,
and your knuckles are swelling
from the wall you just wrecked,
and you swear your hearts bleeding,
and that it’s never going to stop.
They want you to open up;
talk about it.
But how are you supposed
to talk to people you don’t even trust.
They told you it’d get better; easier.
But it never fucking does.
You just end up doubled over
on the kitchen floor,
with your heart
in the pit of your stomach,
screaming out questions that
will never be answered.
Why.
(via vaind)
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