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Can you hear the words behind my words?

I'm screaming, but it only escapes as a whisper, lost in the faded photograph of what once was. I'm not saying I'm okay, only that I will be, even if I stop fighting and give in.

It's okay to give in.

I'm so tired. And it doesn't mean I wish to sleep. I'll be up again staring at the ceiling, mouthing the words to a song to sing me to sleep. I'm so tired. It doesn't mean that life is too hard, or that hiding under the bed is safer, it only means that I want you a little closer now and then.

I think you're beautiful. Not that your eyes hold emotions I only wish mine could achieve, but that there isn't any other word to describe you. It doesn't mean that I love you, although sometimes I think I do, only that I love the insides of you, even the blackness you try to smudge.

When I say a goodnight, it's only that I wish you good dreams, and hope you know that even when I'm tucked away you're with me. Even now, as you read this, and you're sure it isn't you.