It was raining on this side of town again; and when it rains, it touches everything. You keep making yourself a bed on the bottom of the blackest hole and continue convincing yourself that it’s not the reason you don’t see the sun anymore. You put yourself down more than a killer with remorse who’s locked in his cell for years to come. I can’t keep lifting you up when your sole intent is to fall down again.

But if I had to, I would put myself right beside you. I will try to find my place in this diary of Anne, as I burn another page and look the other way. The more you think, the more you wish you could push stop and hit rewind. And I’m frustrated that you can’t see through my eyes, because if you could, you would stop drowning in the sea of regret.

These are my final words to you. The path you walk is in the wrong direction, it’s time to turn around. From now on I will sit in silence, picking you up whenever you fall, but I will say no more; my words are useless and a waste of my time.