What is the idea that started this all?
The one that broke the glass?
I cannot break it again the way you did.
No matter how many times I bash my hands against that wall.
No matter how many times I cry those tears that ruin my mascara.
There is something special in the way someone handles pain.
There is something brave in eyes of the hopeless.
Because even then they see that there might be someone that is kind enough to save them.
There is nothing quite like living through the pain of another day
Knowing that you were not the first option.
Just the one on the back-burner.
So you stay there, hoping that someone will someday come along and
remember that you were left burning and never stopped until you boiled over.
No one understands.
But I do.
Because I boiled over too.