a half a year later and she still fucking hates me
a half a year later and she still crys and tells me how awful I am not knowing how badly it hurts
a half a year later and she still doesn't understand the hell she puts me through
a half a year later and she still can't admit her words are meant to hurt me
a half a year later and everyone still runs to her side because she's the one crying, never even once the one who's slowly dying inside because she's gotten pretty damn good at bottling it up
a half a year later and we still can't fucking work
