three: irreplaceable

Sometimes I lay down at night, thinking about what could've been, and how my life would've turned out, if I was a lil' braver, and held on to the strings that kept us alive.

You were in love, and I was a fool. We were young and reckless.

I have pictured us in my head for countless of times, and in every scene our ending was the same nonetheless.

--

I have reached a phase where talking about things no longer comfort my soul.

The longing and understanding I crave, is beyond comprehensible.

Everything spoken with thoughts that filled my head, I would find some place to spill them into. I now find speaking my mind out loud serves no higher purpose. Sometimes I would feel extremely exhausted and suffocating, all I want to do is just cry into my pillow and hope the world vanishes.

Please, tell me this is normal. 

Please comfort me saying that this is part of adulthood, and that I'm not the only one feeling this.

So much is going on in my head, I feel so lost and blinded. My heart has this empty hole that craves so much of everything that I couldn't put into words. I'm so afraid of it imploding. Because I know when it does, there will be no turning back.