Are there really such things as bad attitudes, or are the accused actually just misunderstood?
At four o'clock in the morning, all I can see are the broken pieces of the mirror in front of me. Are they really broken? It doesn't look cracked. But that's what my eyes see. Is this the way my world appears everyday?
Before:
It was nice to not eat breakfast, to sit by the fireplace alone. It was nice to hear my thoughts so clearly, and speak only the ones which others might understand. It was nice to listen to that music that made my heart feel whole. It was nice to wrap the blankets under my feet and pull the covers over my head. It was nice to cry. It was nice to see your face, embarassing to see you wave, but nice to feel loved. It was really nice when you were awake at night on the other side of the phone. You knew me, so well. It was nice being kissed on the cheek, hearing the nickname I'd heard since I was young. It was nice watching Mr. Woofensnorkel eat ice cream. And it was just as nice watching you eat ice cream. It was nice riding in the van, even when you weren't driving any longer. It was nice to lay with you when you were weak. So hard to see you in pain. But nice to be with you. It was so nice to order your food, to help you eat, to see you with your son.
You had the perfect ear, could call the pitch, could listen better than anyone. Chinese, I was driving, I missed the light and you heard me swear. I laugh out loud when I think of that moment. I'll never forget the way you said my name.
There are so many things we never got to talk about, so many things I need you for. Will you be there? Will you hold my first baby? Will you walk me down the aisle? Will you dance with me? Will you hold my hand?
Why did I stop eating when you were dying? Why did I want to die too? Why do I still feel dead... and why doesn't anyone understand?
