If I told you everything was fine, and that I'm alright, I'd be lying.
But there isn't much of a point dwelling on the bits that made my day all wrong, or how I come back to an empty that fills me.

Because I am not lying when I talk about how lovely my evening was. And that, for a while, I really was happy. That being with you, and your family, is nice. That I love it. That I close where we are with our families.

Having said that, I think even though I thought I had come away from it, there are parts of today that I am still getting over.
So forgive my sullenness sometimes, my sulkiness; I chide myself often and remind myself that it is the last thing anyone would want to come home to. But on days like this, when we've already said all that there is to be said, when we know it's nothing within our control and neither of our faults, please then, do excuse me.

Because i might want terribly for you to hold me, and make it alright, but I don't know how to ask. Or I might have numbed my sadness just long enough to say I need you, out loud, but am made to realize the world doesn't always work in our favour.
But that's just mostly how growing up works though, right?
That I will need you, and I can. But that doesn't mean you will be there. You fix everything, and so easily- but I can't expect you to all the time.



That sometimes, there will be streams of days that are only punctuated with crying oneself to sleep.
That we are the only ones who can fix ourselves.
That there are birthdays you will find yourself crying your way into.


That all of it is just something I'll have to learn to deal with. On my own.