Today, a piece of me died. I was so confident that everyone was right. "No matter what, you always find a way out of trouble that faces you." No matter what, people believe I can fix the situation and make it out on top. I'm the strong one that can do everything on my own. I was begging for your help, but you all turned your back on me because you "knew" I could handle it, you "knew" I couldn't possibly be reaching out.
This was just the first of several failures to come. I have lost a battle, and I'm losing the war. This first fall is enough to rub out the little hope I had. Today was the beginning of my death. After my burial, regrets will feed on my flesh until I am nothing but a memory in a cenotaph. Would things have turned out differently if I never met you, if I never left?
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