I'm sorry that I got saltwater all over your shoulder and that I clung to you like I was a jungle animal and you were a tree.
I can't help it if my mascara isn't waterproof and sticks to my face making me look like a raccoon.
And even though my eyes turn a stunning shade of sea-foam, I hate this.
I hate that I can't breathe. It's like my chest collapses like a stubborn child, and the only way it comes back up is if you feed it all the pain and sorrow you so willingly vomited out in the first place.
I hate how my face gets all red and wet and no matter how hard I try, I won't dry off.
Looking like a raccoon isn't half bad, but looking like the reflection of the state your heart is in is a different story.
I hate that my eyes burn and my face feels raw from all of the attempts to dry it off.
I hate that when someone asks me, "Are you okay?" my eyes decide to flood like a broken dam pouring over innocent living things. I envy them because at least they are alive. Really alive. While I'm just sitting here moping over what everyone else thinks is nothing. Well, my nothing is something. And that something means more to me than anything that they could ever dream to have.
And I'm sorry I look this way. I'm even sorry that I feel this way. But I will never be sorry that what I have has meaning because that's all I need. And that's all I've ever needed. Because I am alright.