Dear C,
You look tired. Your bloodshot eyes look tired. I can barely see your smile anymore. Only trembling lips, opening and closing before my eyes.
Your hands move only because you need to smoke and you don't want to walk anymore.
You stopped talking and now all you do is to talk to your insecurities. Your anxiety is your best friend and soon you're going to meet depression.
You think they are your only friends. You think you didn't have an option. But you are wrong. You didn't have to choose. But you did.
Why you chose misery over happiness?
Why you chose loneliness over friendships?
Why you chose darkness over light?
