Don't ask me why,
Because I don't know.
I am sick and I know it.
I wish I could tell you why.
But I couldn't.
Look me in the eyes
And tell me I love you.
The love you give me everyday,
Isn't the cure for this sickness.
The love you give isn't a vaccine which can make this sickness go away.
But the love you give is the painkiller for this sickness.
A pain that that is so sharp that stab your heart a million time over.
However, when it's over the heart repair itself just to get stab again.
No words can ever describe it.
I wish, I hope. I could one day tell you, I am no longer sick.
To tell you, I finally see what you see in me.
To actually say I am happy.
But I know if that were to happen. It won't last long.
Because my depression will always come back home.
She likes to travel around and see the world.
To bring home souvenirs for me to be sad about.
Don't tell me, I should kick her out.
She isn't paying rent at all!
You see, I can't kick her out.
Because she is me.
So, maybe.
Next time, don't ask me why.
But instead, tell me. I am moving in with your depression and I am not paying rent.
Alyssa Lee, 2.23am
