It's three in the morning and we're out here, celebrating something not worthy of laugh. But we keep on doing it, we keep hurting our souls pretending it's fine because we're young, pretending time will heal us. For two years we've been pretending that this aching pain in our chest isn't slowly eating us alive. We hide behind smiles and cheap alcohol like it'll trick our brains into believing we're okay. For a while I really did believe we'd be fine, that we'd always get away with it, but right now at three in the morning at the edge of a cliff staring the ocean I'm not so sure.