The morning after my grandmother died I woke up to my best friend sharing “Sheryl Crowe – if it makes you happy” on Spotify.
I was wine drunk on the deepest sigh. Sounds sadistic but it was like a souls black eye.
I never forgive myself, I always try to forget. I don’t care to get out of bed anymore. Nothing rhymes or reasons anymore.
A blank stare in the morning before work. A blank stare over FaceTime before bed.
I’m 25 and I still can’t escape the thoughts that tell me I’d be better off dead.
I know I’m grown and I know everything’s alright.
I’m just terrified to be awake and afraid to sleep at night.