I don't know if I can handle more of this. Every night I repeat a silent wish that when I wake up it'll all be normal. It won't feel like there's a rock weighing down my chest. It'll be easy to smile. And easy to laugh. I wish that when I wake up everything will be wiped off the slate.
But no. That's not the way things work. The bridges we burn don't remake themselfs. The things we say don't become forgotten. We can't just fall asleep and wake up with our troubles behind us. That's why I can't make it. I need a new slate. Mine doesn't have any room left.
I don't even know.
