Don’t think I don’t notice it.
When I ask how you’re doing, you dodge the question.
You talk about anything and everything – but yourself.
You’ll do anything to look like you’ve got your life together.
You laugh and joke around, covering up the fact that you want to cry.
You ask about my life, yet you refuse to talk about yours.
My life’s not interesting, but it’s distraction from your toxic thoughts.
You fear that once you let me in, I’ll see the hell you live in every day.
You fear you’ll finally break; that you’ll lose control.
You put on this hard exterior.
I know the real you.
You’re broken inside.
You put up a wall to block people out.
A part of you is hoping that somebody will be brave enough to break down that wall.
You feel like a burden by talking about your problems.
You smile and pretend…
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