Inside, we're fighting.
Outside, we're searching.

It's the moments when you treated me like a child,
that I c0uldn't stand to look at you.
It hurt every part of me,
and you loved it.
I could tell because of the way you smiled afterward,
and the way you would breathe.

You knew I was afraid of spiders,
but you seemed to mimic them perfectly with your hands,
and you knew that I hated it when you lied,
but you did it all the time.

I remember when you started getting up earlier,
it was as if you knew what I was thinking,
and you had to leave before I could ruin anything.

I guess I always had a way with words,
and hands,
and not to mention breaking things.
Sorry again, about the dishes,
I know you loved them.
Probably more than you loved me,
or maybe even your fish.