Dear You,

I’m tired. I feel as though my lungs are filled with water. 

I wish you could go back to a time where everything was less messed up. A time before. Before I realised what pain was. Before I knew what losing someone was. Before I realised what lonely was. Before, when I could fall asleep without being haunted with regrets. Regrets of people, and words said or unsaid, of not appreciating things when they were good. Before, when it was simple. Now, I have hundreds of thoughts and mixed emotions daily. I don’t know how to feel. I’ve become complicated. Not in an obvious way, but subtly fucked up, under the surface.

My head is lying to me, and I know it. It’s protecting me, yet I know it’s ultimately screwing me up. And people don’t care. So I carry on pretending like it is ok. It’s not, but people don’t want to know your problems, not properly, I guess. 

And, then I think, if you’re not here in the darkness, why should you be around in the light? For what kind of friend looks at the plastered on smile on the crumbling body and leaves it dilapidating alone in the dark, and tell themselves she’s dealing with it. 

Heartbreak doesn’t kill you. You just wish it did.

So tonight, my lungs will continue to fill with water, until I am drowning into sleep.

Regards,

Me