WheN I met her, this hole was dug, at points alone; sometimes with her company. With that, time gave me permission to dig it deeper and deeper, until not only did it become hard to get out, but my own will to find a way out was all but demolished. The hole itself serves as a constant reminder of the things we survived, and the things that we accomplished.

I can't help but let my mind wander as she stands beside me while I'm typing this yet offers no hand to help me out of this hole. Is it her fault? I think not. How do you enlist yourself in any kind of project of this magnitude with the knowledge of whether or not you can finish it?


You can't. I can't blame her, the hole was dug when we were younger.

and i admit


I miss her.

Categories: love [t], habits [t], confusion [t]

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