you sit there staring at nothing in particular.
not wanting to believe it, hoping it isn't true.
but knowing, somehow that it is.
you want to cry, but the tears won't come.
you want to say something, but you don't know what.
because what can you possibly say that will make everything okay?
and as much as you don't want to admit it, you knew.
you knew, and didn't say anything.
perhaps you were in denial.
perhaps you hoped it really was over.
the fact remains that you might have been able to stop it.
but you didn't say or do anything, and the guilt kills you.
it's not too late, and you know that.
but, still, what can you do?
say all the clichéd things that don't really help?
tell someone? (but you don't know who you can possibly tell who'd care)
and you're too afraid of saying the wrong thing, making it worse.
the fact that this is real hasn't hit you yet.
because you just can't comprehend it.
you tell yourself you'll mention it soon, talk about it.
but you can't bring yourself to, because then you have to face it.
and you don't think you're strong enough.
you're smart enough to know that problems don't disappear if you ignore them.
but as much as you want to, you just can't.
every night, you pledge to do it the next day.
and predictably, you end up not.
you're scared to death it'll happen again.
you care so much you can't put it into words.
you want to make everything better.
but you don't know how.
all you know is that you love her.
and that it's not enough.
