His fingers trace letters on my flesh. He's handing me back my own words. This is real

We don't want to lose you. Didn't she realize that I was already gone.

Holden Caulfield people are the bane of my existence.

I probably could have handled things a hell of a lot better, but what do you do when someone shoves a grenade at you, pulls the pin and tells you to make the best of the situation? Fuck if I know.

Aimee, what if, she asked, you decided to let go? And I wondered if she'd been listening to me at all. Because all I do is let go.

I think they look like little pieces of green confetti decorating the grey cement walk and that seems all wrong.

She doesn't see me the way that I see her.

Then I'd say that I'm fucking sick and tired of getting in the way of myself.

I'll never forget it because it was such an odd thing to say. She told me that she'd be you. You, Aimee. She cupped her hand to the place where my heart beat under my skin. Maybe you aren't wrong. Maybe she is inside of you. But I don't think she's making a racket because she's trying to get out. I think she just wants to make sure you know that she's there.

And on the bad days I'm not even sure that I exist anymore. Today is a bad day.