I hate seeing you.
No, I don't hate seeing you.
I hate seeing you like this.
You've been depressed.
You've been hurting and struggling.
You've been crying.
You've been writhing in the agony your mind creates for you.
You're dying.
No, you're not dying.
But you want to be dead.
You think that being dead would be better.
Better than the pain.
Better than the not knowing what's wrong but it's not.
You're broken.
Wait, you're not broken.
But you think you are.
I just want to help you.
I just want to make everything better.
I want to take the pain away.
You think you're broken, and I'd break myself to fix you.
I hate seeing you.
Like this.