This is me Hiding in the corner with a book lost in someone else's imagination
I wish I could tell you that it goes away, that it gets better, that you'll get over it.
I saw him. He held a razor to his wrist, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. He kept whispering, "Just do it. Just do it. Just do it." I saw him, trying to convince himself to cut his life off, and I had no idea how to stop him, or if I should try. When… Continue reading Reaching Back
Belief has borrowed flavors, and we taste the memories of what has never come.