Sometimes it’s not the things that are said or done that hurts you, but the things that aren’t.

Somehow I feel lost when I think about you. The thoughts are clouded, desolate, wet with my tears.

You used to say that you would kill anybody that hurt me. Now I wonder if you’ll commit a suicide.

No one ever gets tired of loving, but everyone gets tired of waiting, assuming, hearing promises, saying sorry, and all the hurting.