Secrets
I tell you that I need to love myself, and that I need people who love me, but I know that no one does, and I know that none of this will last.
I tell you that you don’t care for me, even when you do, because I want you to care more.
I tell you that it’s your fault, but silently, I know it’s all mine.
I pretend that I’m growing up, but I’m dying.
I tell people I don’t believe in suicide, but I secretly wish that a car will knock me over so that it’ll all be over and I’ll still be right.
Mariah was wrong, they can take everything.
They can tell you anything. They can tell you lies, and deceit. But they cannot tell you what you believe. What you hold dear to your heart. I care because if I didn’t I wouldn’t be me. I am no-one, for I am defined by all that I am not. You define me. And if what I am to you is so important, then I will be important. I’ll always be a friend, because I can’t not be one.
Forgive us our sins. As we forgive those who sin against us.
Where do we go from here?