THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
I sit still, you pace. This is the general pattern of things.
As I'm talking, I realize that I'm too exhausted and too hysterical not to be honest and I inevitably appear more depressed, more insane than I actually am. I recognize your kindness in not telling me what you think.
I tell you that the others told me that they were concerned about you, worried that you weren't taking care of yourself, and you tell me that if it's any consolation, the least depressed you've been lately has been when you're with me
You offer me some of your sleeping pills and that night at 1AM you send me a text message that says, 'Go to sleep'