I'm crying again. God, why he can't realize the truth? Here, hidden in my room, the only place where I can be the real me. But he... he doesn't know me. He doesn't know the me that cries when all the lights are off. He doesn't know how his words hurt me. Does he really think that I'm indifferent to everyone and everything? Does he really think that my heart is made of ice? That I don't care a shit about the world that surrounds me?

My room. I hide in my room and cry. There's only one person who've been able to see beyond my cold mask. God, I want to call her and tell her how sad I am, but I can't. I don't know, it's just that I don't want to bother her. Besides, I know what she's gonna tell me: "just talk to him" Talk to him? Talk to a person who see my sadness but ignore it? Or maybe it's just uncapable of seeing it, submerge in his own world of worries as he is.

And the tears flow and flow. I thought I was more calmed, but I'm not. At least I can write what I'm feeling. Isn't it funny? I'm so alone I can only write what I feel. He... he has friends... he can talk to them, and he can talk to me... but he thinks he is alone too. What does he know about being alone? My silence has always being his companion... but for me, his voice is nothing more than daggers in my heart. Daggers telling me the truth: that I'm not enough. Not for him, not for anyone in this world. I don't deserve to be loved, and he seems to enjoy making me realize it.

Sometimes I wonder, how death is? Maybe it's the end of all the sadness. If I were a little braver, I would take a gun and finish with my nightmare. But it's silly. What if after dead everything's worst? Or... what if I make him cry?? I don't want to make him cry, though I know is living how I hurt him the most. Sometimes I can be a real jerk, but he loves me anyway. Yes, he loves me. He hurts me day after day, and I hurt him everytime I open my mouth to speak... but he loves me anyway, and I'm really thankful for that.

Suddenly it seems difficult to breath in here. It's not my room. My room's the perfect hidden place, so it must be me. It must be something wrong with myself. Maybe I should just go to sleep for a while. Isn't it funny?? I'm thinking in sleep again. Sometimes I think that's the only thing I can do: sleep. I sleep all day and almost all night. I know he worries about me because of that. "It's not normal" he says. Doesn't he still realize I'm not normal? I'm nothing more than a soul in the wrong time and space. That's why I sleep, to forget. To forget who I am, and all the shits I have done.

Am I a bad person?? One time I asked him that, and he said I was not. Was he lying? Or maybe his point of view has changed with time. I should ask him now. Maybe he'll say yes, or maybe he'll just stay silence and avoid my sight. At the end, it'll be the same thing. The answer will still be a great yes, spoken or unspoken, just a big yes, 'cause I am bad.

Maybe he's crying right now. Or maybe he just hates me so much in this moment he's not able to cry. I don't feel capable to leave my room and go to see. I'd love to "talk to him". To tell him that there's something wrong with me. "Hey, look... water fills my eyes every night, and I still don't know why"... But I think he wouldn't care a shit, not anymore. I have crossed the last barrier of his patience, and now he doesn't want to even see me. And what am I doing? Just crying. Crying as a little kid would do. But I'm not a kid anymore. I'm suppose to stand up and face the world. But it just hurt too much... too much to deal with it... too much to even think in it...

I'm convinced that I should die. Problem: I won't kill myself, I'm not capable of... maybe I'll just stay here in my room, waiting for my dead. I'm gonna listen to his yells telling me to go out, but I'll stay here, safe... 'cause in my room is the only place where I am safe, the only place where I can be my real self, the only place... where I can cry...

end