My secret is hopeful of sorts, though a fear of mine, too. I’m afraid that perhaps someday I will complete recovery, and give myself all that I feel I need to get well, though come out of the experience feeling just as inhuman, unhappy, unfulfilled and desperately unsatisfied with my life as before. Perhaps I will find something special in myself to open up to people and forgetting my past, to experience new things. Though what if the world outside of my front door has nothing to offer me? What if there’s nothing I can do with such beauty, or nothing that such beauty can do with me? I fear that I will still be this sad as I age. To put it lightly, I fear that I’m just too unwell to be fixed.

I think about you every second of every single day, funny that you're not the boy who likes me and i claim to like back, you're just the one who made me feel the worse, i’d do anything to be back in your arms, literally anything.

Maybe i should just stop looking for something that wasnt meant to be mine. Waiting isnt my option either.