He

Always makes breakfast.




I wish i could still cry my way out of a fight, fiend some innocence, but it's nothing like that anymore. It's much deeper, angrier. it's shut bed room doors. Not a word in hours. It's cold stares. and it only speaks of what i've done wrong. But i'm not the one that openly admits i'm cold. i'm the one, the one, who keeps it togeather because it's repulses you to see me cry. But when i'm cut from what i love, and pushed 3omiles away. It's little help to a 14 year old that hasn't had her mommy in years.