of cigarette burns on my chest

The truth burns deep inside, and will never die.

Just how many times have I promised myself to not cry over you? How many times? Five, ten, what? Just how many more times am I going to put myself through this until I feel better to stand up on my own again?

I hate it when I watch a movie and it’s family themed, especially when the plot has marital issues or if the father in the show is a good father. I don’t know how I should feel. I like shows which are real. But when they touch on issues too close to my heart, I feel like I’m a masochist watching them.

It makes me beyond sad when I recall all the family outings on Sundays. And now that you’re gone, Sunday is still a family day, but those Sundays you don’t even want to look at me and us hurt me more that it should have.

It sucks that I have to swallow these tears because they’re useless to anybody. It sucks that I have to keep these thoughts to myself because talking about it won’t change things, and they certainly wouldn’t help anyone. Hell, it’ll just make everyone spill tears of their own and it’ll be my fault for slashing barely healed wounds open again.

As much as I want to say I wish nothing changed, I can’t, because if it didn’t happen, I won’t know what kinda person I’d have become instead.

As much as I want to say I hate you, I can’t, because I don’t. I just can’t do it.