What breaks once, remains broken.
People break. They seem to heal but the fault lines remain and you realise that a bit too late. Time doesn’t heal, it just covers up. You seem to forgive but you don’t and they realise that a bit too late.
People break. Easier than glass. You try to pick them up but they shatter into a million more pieces. And each time, you lose a piece. You break. After a long time of holding on. They try to help you but you can see them hiding one piece at a time in their back pockets where it lays forgotten.
Someone made me realise that I’m very vague. Comes with being a writer, I guess. You’re so used to disguising your emotions as words that after a time, it becomes natural. Vagueness genuinely creeps into your words and your intentions, which can be quite annoying especially when others notice it but you don’t. I, myself, admitted that I’m weak. I’ve wanted to talk about it for quite a while. There were a million people ready to listen but somehow, it was easier to talk to him. I’m grateful for that. Thanks, man.
It’s a scary prospect. History is repeating itself. I’m terrified. This time, I’m old enough to understand. This time, I’m a part of it. This time, I’m one of the reasons. What have I done . . . I need help, I don’t want it. I want help, I don’t deserve it.