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I'm tired of trying. And I'm tired of the pain, and the thud thud thud in my temples.
I'm tired of crying over nothing, over a lighter that cannot, will not light.
And I had a break down again. Right over there, at the kitchen table, after I said good bye as fast as I could, because I could feel it coming.
I'm never going to understand why caring about someone brings on so much self pity.
And though you wouldn't know it from this, I'm really good at making people think I'm strong, making them believe I know, selling them some other version of myself. And it's hard work, all of that image, that massive facade.
But right now, I feel about 4. And I'm crying over a lighter that cannot light, that will not light. And I'm crying over myself, and that I just can't find the fucking strength, that I will not find the fucking strength.
You win. You fucking win.