23. If I say I miss you, I don’t.
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?