It's My World and Y'all Just Live In It!

Wow. It's times like this when words are needed the most that I am at a loss.

I am not surprised that I have digested all of this by now, being the strong person that I think I am.

Or have I? Am I? Maybe it just hasn't totally stricken me yet. Or maybe I got so used to getting fucked up that I take this as it goes and just be passive. Absorbent like a sponge. Taking it all in without hesitation because I know that, after all, this is how life goes, and getting fucked up is what coexists with our existence.

There's a fifty-fifty possibility that you might not be able to talk audibly anymore. As expected, you only know what you've got til it's gone, so I am, quite ironically, talking to you more now that you're already struggling to speak. Though I am too proud to even mentally admit, I regret not paying too much attention to you everytime you would come to our house just to check how I am, if I am already up, have taken a bath, have eaten, what I was doing. I am the one who deserves to be bedridden, for I am the ungrateful one who gets irritated of your over-concern: when you would endlessly bug me to eat lunch, or talk to me about stuff I thought I was not interested in.

I have always known that I should be spending more time with you. I did not know it HAD to be this soon.

I will never get tired taking care of you just as you are never tired of looking out for me every single day.

I'm sorry for everything.