Why do people have to ask.
I was I and you were you.
We were so close yet so far apart.
You didn't know that though.
I was depressed and you were happy.
I was dying and you were not.
But if you asked if I wasn't okay I denyed it, told you some lame fake story about how my mum had a go at me when in fact it was my own mind, tearing me apart while I sat alone in my room.
The idea of you spinning in my mind and the thought of you not being here slowly eating away at me.
You would ask me why I wasn't in school today and I would reply with an excuse founded upon lies, lies I did not wish to tell.
The words I hated slowly leaving my lips like A cold breath of air.
All I wished for was to be with you, so that one day when you asked me why I was down or why I seemed upset instead of taking a slow breath in and hesitantly replying with one of my trivial lies I could press my cold lips upon yours and make it all feel better.
You can't be mine though, because you are warmth on a summers day and I will always be the ice Ivey breeze that pushes you away.
