He'd try and take my hands to pick me up off the dirty floor of my room that knows far more than he does, but I'd never let him. As he'd reach his hand for the curtains, I'd grab it and say "I can do it on my own." I couldn't find the will or the way, and having somebody look down at me on the floor with pity made me enjoy the floor more.
I started making friends with the bugs that crawled out of my floorboards and spotting constellations on my ceiling. I just wanted you to tell me I was hopless and delusional and that you were done with me so I could lay in silence. When you started to let rays of light in, I was shocked and you terrified me. I'm so sorry, you must understand that I hadn't seen light in so long and I had forgotten the feeling it gave me.
You can't blame yourself for trying to help me, when I was too messed up to want it. I'm trying to brush the dust off my legs now and stand the fuck up. Thank you for letting some light in. It gets awful dark in here at times.
