no, don't.

i made her cry. i didn't mean to. it's all my fault, she said. and i wanted to say, no, no, it's not. but i wanted to keep silent. i wanted to be still. i wanted to keep still so that the tears wouldn't fall out. they did, anyway. and she cried when she saw them fall, some rolling down the cheek unto the bed, others dropping straight down, on my knee. mother, don't, don't cry. mother, it's the way things turned out, it's the way things are. please don't cry. it's not what you did or did not do. it's just life. i don't think i could really climb out even if i wanted to. i know when i am lying to myself, and can't really release when i am supposed to. i've come close to that moment before, of maybe believing in what i tell myself is the truth, but the skepticism of what is reality and what is my own making stand in the doorway. i can't pass through. if i can, then everything would fall into place. if... this could be a lie, something of my own making, this could be something i am trying to force myself into believing. she offers me something in her palm and i push it away, and if she comes near me to try again (she will) i'll slap her hand (i know it hurts her, but it's what i always do). don't you know there is something called being too nice, and i don't want you to give everything you have, i don't want the best of your goods, i don't want all this love. i think songs sound so much better when the room is silent and it's a dead air in my head and when he doesn't love me anymore.