They told me to write about someone I loved. Three months ago, it would have been you. Today it is no one. Because you cannot love other people when you cannot love yourself. Because I stopped loving you and you never noticed.
They asked me if I could go anywhere in the world where would I go. Three months ago it would have been your arms. Today it's anywhere but here, Beijing, Hong Kong, Jerusalem, Rio de Janeiro, Santiago, Cape Town, Milan, Paris, London. Because three months ago your arms were the only place I felt safe and at home. Because now, no where feels like home.
They told me if you loved someone and they loved you back, things would be okay. They told me that life got better. They told me that no matter what there would always be someone who you could talk to, someone that would care.
They told me that if you put your trust in other people and told them what was going on, they could help. They told me that even if you don't think you need it, you should ask for help. They told me that they would always be there to help me if I needed help.
They. Lied.
Here's what they didn't tell me. They did not tell me that people would hate you and never tell you why. They did not tell me that people would build you up only to leave without explanation. They did not tell me that no matter how many sweet nothings a boy whispered in my ear, I would still hate myself. They did not tell me that I could have the best day of my life one day and struggle to get out of bed the next. They did not tell me that people will break your trust without a second thought. They did not tell me that people with break your heart and not care. They did not tell me that even when someone promises to always be there, they won't be. They did not tell me that even after three years I would still want to kill myself. They did not tell me that the world is a messed up hell and that no matter what you do to survive it, you won't.
