Do you ever feel as if whomever you're writing to is your only friend?
The one who understands.
The only one who does.
The only one who knows.
The one that reads this and shares the same pain as me.
It is more comforting to write it down to the imaginary person reading this than to leave the demons inside.
Who are you?
The one I write to.
The one who knows who I aspire to be more than anything.
The one who knows my heart is breaking for him.
That I feel dead on the inside.
That I feel like something is really wrong with me.

Friend am I ok?
Am I really as messed up as I think I am?
Will I ever do this right?
Do I deserve what I want?
This head is suffocating.
It knows what depression is.
She wants to remember what her happiness was.
She always told herself to go back there when things got bad again.
Sweetheart it's time.
It's okay to let go.
To go back to her.