Dear Nobody, You played with my heart and now I must recover. But how do I do that if I can't change? Probably always yours, Rose

There are some things we end up not sending.

To Dylan: i just miss you. - A series of texts in which she experiences depression in the most vicarious way possible, and love is just the tune playing lowly in the background. - [Trigger Warnings for: Depression, Thoughts of Suicide, Self-Harm] [Dylan is a boy, and Anabelle is a girl, to clear things up]

I'm sorry if this story is bothering you. But if it is, it's clearly not meant for you. "What's depression like?" A friend once asked. I didn't know what to say. Because when people ask you things like "What's wrong" and "How are you?" and "Can I help you?" I never know what to say. I end up lying. I end up answering "nothing" and "Fine" and "No". Though what I really want to answer is "Everything" and "I'm not okay" and "Yes, please". What depression is like? Writing what it's like is easier than telling what it's like. Only a few will totally understand what it's like. And for those people I wrote this.