I'm sorry that somehow, that somewhere along the way, I lost my voice. And now when I really need to speak up, when I really need to tell you something, I can't. And I bite my tongue, and I dig my nails into my hands and I squeeze my eyes shut when the tears begin to well in them. And what is there to do except repeat the profound feeling of hate? But I don't hate you, I love you and that is the problem. And you can accuse me of being cold, or not caring, but I care. I care so much that every stupid thing you do makes my heart sick.
