...there is no point to anything. I just want to lie under the cover in my bed in my home and cry and have someone (special) to hold me and say that I'll work it out, that we'll work it out.
But I can't be like that, and I fear the substitute will only make it feel worse.
I feel like my life is running through my fingers like sand.
Maybe it's work, maybe it's life. Maybe it's just me.
No comments:
Post a Comment