she's back. back to the drawing board. fixing up the pieces of her broken life so that someone might take interest and feels just like I do.

I wished you were here to help me with what to do and hold my hand and tell me that everything will turn okay. That maybe it'll be my turn.

I want to run. run away. I want to believe but in the same turn tear up everything I hold dear because sometimes it seems like I am broken. I peer at me, my reflection and I am hold, and true but lonely.

I wished I didn't give a fuck but I do.