I saw you from afar today, clutching that bag of yours without a care. From distance, you seem detached from happenings around you, maybe you have always been that way. Things just move along, for you, don't they always?
Our yesterdays were short and few, but they were the lowest and darkest of valleys I've crossed. There were so many nights a "NO" would never be understood. There were so many times a "STOP" would make you hurt me harder. And it was almost always a sob from me would only warrant a shrug and smirk from the devil in you.
I came out from the doctor's office this morning, clutching the report tightly. Is life precious? Or only as precious as falling petals?