I'm not okay. I stand there, door slightly opened. You don't notice. You've got your eyes closed, head tipped back, mouth open. Liquid denial. Mascara surely streaks down my face in a dark mess. I bet if they made glasses in the same brown tinted glass your bottle is made of that you'd wear them to keep from seeing us. You hide in your garage to escape dealing with things you don't know how to. But I'm still here, dealing with it. I vowed that I'd never be so weak that day. I'll be stronger than you. Broken promises got us here.But that's one promise in the world that can be kept.