Why do you hate the fact that I get along with people.

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writing gives me strength but that’s all it does.

I read to understand how I feel — where I so often find lost and messy emotions sorted out in the structure of other people’s poetry.

And then I write to affirm how I’m feeling — when I uncover the truth of my heart of hearts by taking the courage to spell them out.

But whenever I open that stupid mouth of mine, still, nothing ever comes out right.

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Protected: If hearts were not made to care, what were they made for?

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And I wish too, that there were no secrets. And I wish too, that I’ll stop disappointing my loved ones. I wish that old ways were no more, that I’ve leapt across a giant valley; that black holes were lit, that something crates the end of the abyss. But despite how dark it ever gets, I’ve always only wanted to be the happiest person around the people I love, to give them the biggest joy I’m capable of. I want to love, to trust, to heal and to make them laugh. What saddens me is that no matter how much I do, I still end up disappointing at the end of the day.

But if you love me too, I hope you’ll see that glimmer behind all that seems vacant and dark. If you love me, believe that I am pure and good. If you love me, trust that I’m making the effort to make better. Because I’ll love and I’ll give and I’ll expect nothing in return, other than for you to believe in me. And, if you truly love me enough, save me even during times when I say I don’t need saving.

The things that hurt the most are the things that you never say.