Story of my life. But you don’t know my life. So let’s keep pretending that I’m one of the strongest people you’ll ever know. That I’ll never need a hand because I always figure it out on my own. Does it make it easier for you? How do you do it? How do you see me that way? Maybe I should tell you the stories I thought you already knew. Every love lost, every bridge burned that I still try to cross… A part of me is more of a mess than you could ever imagine.
You’d like to believe that I never tried sleeping with a broken heart. Believe that I didn’t cry myself a river and drown myself in puddles, or that I could hardly breathe while hidden under my covers. I’ve been broken just like you and the rest of us. And the fact that I don’t show it much means I just may need you even more. Even more than you thought you needed me.
But I could never tell you these things because I don’t want you to be haunted with the things that haunt me. But I need you to see that I’m only human and I am not always strong. So give me your hand even when I don’t ask for one.
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