There's so much here. All different kinds of hurt, packed up under skin and hidden away behind cheerful smiles. I don't understand. It hurts less when you don't pull the skin so tight it aches.
How do you help when you can mend here, but it goes back to what is written when things come around again? There should be a way to help that can carry through, or nothing can change, and then it's always like that. Skin stretched. Little cracks. Crying when no one looks. Missing when no one knows. Break down the dam and pull away the rot, but there's another built just ahead and no one knows you tried to let the water run free.
I can't make them forget it hurts at all. It doesn't work like that.
There's so much space when one stands where there was two. That's all they think of. The empty space, how it used to feel so much less empty.