I’m starting to believe that some wounds simply don’t heal.
It doesn’t matter how long it has been, or how many times you tried to forget. It will always be there, reminding you of the battle that you were not able to win.
I’m starting to believe that inside, I will always be the sixteen-year-old girl crying in front of her computer screen and cursing the world and wishing that everything would stop hurting me.
I’m starting to believe that I am, in fact, not dreaming.. that this is real life and that I won’t be waking up soon. And just like it was six years ago, I’m still as terrified as ever.
Isn’t it funny how time — the ever-magical, ever-elusive time — is not magical enough to ease the pain?