I keep saying I'm broken and you keep saying I'm broken and everyone keeps saying it and

Stop
Giving
Me
Hugs

I don't need pity. I need glue.

--

Hello. I'm Endymion. And I'm a nomad. My feet are freezing and its snowing outside but the desire for hot chocolate evades me.

The desire for silence is overpowering.

Are you okay? How are you doing? Has your dad moved out yet? How many classes are you failing today? Why do you come home so late? Why do you look so sad? Do you need anything? Are those pills helping?

I miss you.

You've changed.

Why have you changed?

Everything is wrong I know that but I'm lost.

I say

"I'm fine."

"I feel a little better."

"I don't know."

And they aren't lies but they feel like lies and I still don't know why that is. Maybe because they are all temporary.

Everyone keeps saying I'm broken and I've stopped saying I'm broken and you just realized

I'm broken.

But don't tell anyone. They don't need to know.

Because I'm okay and I'm doing fine and my dad still lives here and I'm only failing one class right now and I come home late because waiting for you is all I want to do now and I forgot how to look happy but I don't need anything and the pills just make me antsy.

I miss you too.

I know.

I don't know.