(no subject)
I have no place to write. No place to hide.
I love you and always will, but you have taken something from me.
There is no where I can freely express my nightmares.
Certain things I have yet to deal with.
I am not just a girl. I am not just a cry baby.
I am a person. Someone who loves blind and longs to be touched.
Who has been ripped apart and is slowly finding the pieces again.
This journal will remain empty, but my mind will not.