You're always so sad.

I tell you how wonderful you are and how everyone that you meet loves you.

I am met with harsh self-deprecating words flowing from your lips so freely. Like you really believe the words.

Tonight I put you down to bed after one too many pills graced your tongue.

You were speaking gibberish. Incoherent sentences that meant nothing.

I gave you water, i tucked you in, and made sure you were okay.

Just before closing the door and letting the last light dim in the room, you said, "I love you."

And after all that you have said to me. Everything you have called me. Telling me that I wasn't worth the space I occupy.

I said, "I love you too."

I forgive you every time, because I don't believe you mean what you've said to me.

I have to believe that you don't really mean it.

And I have to believe that you do mean it when you say that you love me.

I know it may be selective, but I have to believe in something good right now.

Because to be honest, I'm scared.

But I know you will awake in the morning, and it will all start again.

The pretending begins again every time...