I hate people worrying about me. I don't want you wasting your time thinking about me.

Yet

All I want is to be crying while being held in your arms. I want you to hold me so tight, life is unfair, and I'm not okay.

This thought replays in my head like a broken record,

"Telling them won't fix everything, but it's a start. Like neosporin. When you get a cut, you put some on the wound so you won't get an infection.

It will sting at first, but it's there to help you. Let the wound heal with time."

I don't want to tell them, but I need to. I don't want the infection to take my life.

-R