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Maybe.

Ugly.
Pathetic.
Useless.
Those are words you use to describe yourself. That person you see everyday in the reflection of a car window or the puddle in the sidewalk.
Avoiding mirrors because you think your fat. Wearing sleeves to cover your self inflicted wounds that you see as fit punishments for something that wasn’t your fault. Contemplating the reason for your birth on a daily basis, but not in that mystical “how am I going to make a difference way.” More like that “would anyone even notice if I was gone” sort of way.
Well stop. How do you have the audacity to think that when I’m here everyday asking if you’re okay? If you need a shoulder to cry on or an ear to hear you out. A hand to hold or a-
Then again, maybe I should have pushed harder. Maybe I shouldn’t have accepted those two false words that bitterly escaped your tongue as you held your breath hoping I would deny them as true.
Maybe you were testing me. Seeing if I cared enough to ask again, to take action. Deciding whether I was purely curious, or genuinely cared. And maybe, maybe I was merely curious. Because I did nothing more than accept those two false words. I went one living in a solid world while yours came crashing down. I watched it happen.
And now? Now you’re gone. Maybe I could have stopped it. All the signs were there, as clear as that sliver of sun on a storming day.
Maybe I should have asked again. Or maybe you should have just told me yourself.





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