To be clear, depression is not really a distinct kind of sadness, but more of a numbness. Like walking on shards of broken glass and not giving two shits that your feet are being sliced raw. Or not really giving two shits about anything for that matter. That and beginning to realize that everything around you is incredibly irritating. Nails against a chalkboard irritating.
All I need to hear sometimes is just an “I love you.” God, if you feel it, how I wish you would show it. Because maybe you do not understand how much and how hard and how deep I feel. I need to be kissed under sunshine and raindrops. Know skin upon skin even on nights when the stars hide. I cannot be the woman that always gives you an excuse. My always never worked out before anyway.
It’s okay that you don’t see yourself the way that I do. That you don’t see how your eyes are sprinkled with flecks of hazel, and you probably don’t realize that you bring your left hand up to your mouth every time you laugh. The same hands that hold me, that could probably build towers and castles and maybe you do, maybe you don’t understand that when your left is in my right, I know you were worth waiting for.