I'm here again. I'm wondering if I can cry this time. I feel the tears, I feel the burn at the back of my throat. I'm ready to cry again. Cry over you, cry about the way I'm not sure if you truly still care. Cry, because I can't find the right way to ask you if you love me like I, you. But instead of crying, I swallow the tears and the burning sensation, like taking a swallow of some bad whiskey- -And I'll push the thought to the back of my mind.
Go on/off anon and pretend we’re the person you want to talk to and get everything off your chest
(okay but anon can we be friends because you’re so poetic and cool)