To them,

My walls are like skyscrapers. You know, the ones that when you look up at them they look like they’re tilting, like they’re going to fall on top of you.

I sit atop of them; looking down at you. I wonder how I got this way, how I let it get this bad. A million thoughts rushed around in my head as you tried and tried again to climb the wall. You tried to find any little ledge you could to try and get close to me again.

I panicked and built them higher. You told me you were sorry, like that made it okay. You told me you changed, like that erased the pain you caused. You told me you missed me, like that made up for the fact that you left me. It doesn’t.

— I guess being 16 and depressed are the “golden years”, right? —