You're still very much alive, somewhere. But the way I keep breaking down, it's as if you've died. It's like I'm standing here and the world is going on around me, but how can they? can they not see that I'm hurting, screaming silent lungs out inside. Everything is just so surreal. Can't you tell me that I'm being just a little bit stupid? Can't you tell me anything? I never got goodbye, but maybe I would not have handled it. But then again I'm not handling it now. Unless you call crying, and looking back handling things? I miss you. But maybe you don't miss me. I'm actually terrified that maybe you hate me and it was all some big charade.