bbertolet
I can hardly breathe. You cut me off, and I sit here trying to pretend the wound isn't so severe. But that's just a lie, of course. It always is with you.
Sometimes I just feel like you walk away when I turn your way. You don't see me. And I'm desperate, calling. Trying to make you listen when the call is always dropped... Disconnected, it reads.
I'm looking for the day that it comes from somewhere within, and not all the capacites of everyone else around me. They need to stop dictating it. It needs to be mine, again. But it's not. Please, let it be something more than another judgement from the outside.