There are so many things that I want to say, and yet, most of the time, nothing comes from my mouth but a wry smile.
How am I meant to say the things I desperately want to, without revealing how incredibly broken I am?
I watch you all day, think about you, talk to you. And yet the things that I so desperately want to scream, are stuck inside my lungs, weighing me down like cement, instead of air.
I want you to look into my eyes and understand, so I don’t have to say the things I feel. I want you to hold my hand, until I don’t have a reason to let go. I want you to hold me together, because I feel like I’m falling apart.
I know you can see the flicker of what’s haunting me, behind my eyes. I know you can sense the things I don’t say.
Look closer. Believe me when I say I want to tell you. But understand me when I say I can’t.
Because my lungs are filled with cement.
And the more I gasp for air, the harder the cement sets. The heavier I feel. The harder it is to let the words escape.