To know that I've hurt, could probably be worse than being hurt. For the hearts that I've broken and for the disappointment that I've caused, I'm sorry, if apologies even helped at all.
As much as I don't hold the right to say this, please don't give up on hope.
Please don't give up on us.
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When small flowers crack concrete, faith is restored. But when even the Home starts to crack, everything is lost. It's been years, possibly decades. Don't tell me it's normal to bicker, don't tell me it's normal to fight, because when it makes the heart numb and when it causes permanent misery, then evidently, it's not normal.
I'm ripe with things to say, the words rot and fall away.
If a stupid poem could fix this Home, I'd read it everyday.
Rather than fix the problems, they never solve them. It makes no sense at all.
I see them everyday. We get along, so why can't they?
If this is what he wants, and this is what she wants, then why is there so much pain?
I don't even have Home to escape to now. Where do I go then?
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First this, now that. And I have a paper to sit for tomorrow. How apt.
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