To my poor heart,
I have faithfully listened to you in many occasions. Daily things.
And I'm listening to you now. And you hurt. You hurt a lot.
I recall several times, listening to you over reason - or my brain.
I just don't know what to do anymore. You are cynical. Which makes me cynical. Hateful. Secluded. Cold.
There is still an immense pain, even when I feel numb from the intensity of it all.
You need to heal. You need something good to warm you. Something I can't have. Something we certianly have never experienced. Or deserve for that matter.
I would sooner try to heal my own heart, if not every attempt so far has failed miserably and ended in a deeper hate for me, and the rest of the world because things never worked out. And that last bit of hope you have, that one you keep stretching out more and more, is causing trouble.
For that little bit is causing so much. You keep holding on the that hope. Like it'll go some where. Like the past hasn't happened and the future won't cause any discomfort. While my brain is screaming telling you to stop. Telling you nothing will work out. Like it always hasn't.
I can't always trust my brain, for I think way too much. Though I can't always trust you.
I don't know who to believe anymore.
Much love and hope you feel better soon,
The hollowness of self