23. If I say I miss you, I don’t.

That’s all.

Only a handful people on the face of this Earth would I give my last breath to. Not you. Who are you even?

This life keeps shooting me down, but the only people that bring me up, I cover in a shroud of distance and sadness.

I can’t help my hate that pours out because of the ugly of the people I surround myself with when my loved ones call and try to get to know me.

How have I grown to be so good at being so distant?

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