Behind these weary eyes lies a river. A river of tears - a river of hurt. The words you say to me (or rather, the words you don't say) they act like a remote control, releasing the flood gates and bursting open the river of hurt and the river seemingly flows freely. Disregarding the apologies you attempt to make, or your ability to make up for lost time. The river, the hurt that you've created, flows away freely into a dark oblivion.
I feel insecurity at the best of times.
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