Sometimes I wonder if I won't fit in just because I don't add to the stories of suffering that surround you. The stories that all your friends and the special ones tell you. The ones about the bleeding, the madness of loss and heartbreak, betrayal, abandonment and unintentional harm done over the years. All either forgiven or forgotten. So you listen and then the sympathy in your heart either makes you admire their bravery or reminds you of times when you felt cracked too. I can't lie to you, I'm not good at writing up stories.


So when you've seen or heard a lot, what's still special to you? I want to know.


Looking through her red box of memories,
Faded I'm sure,
But love seems to stick in her veins, you know?