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Advice Not Taken

Advice Not Taken

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Delilah Thomas

"So you really don't care about my-my condition?" I asked, ashamed that I even had to refer to myself as a living condition.

"Ta' be honest wit'cha, I'm just as fucked up as you. So I can't judge you when I'm sittin' in the same boat, juss' on a different level." He shrugged twisting his lip to the side.

At that moment I wanted to take away his sorrow, all of it, and add it to mine. I didn't care about those nights that I wanted to die or take my own life away— all I wanted was to take away the pain that was making a home inside of him. The way he could talk so effortlessly about his hurt, and not show a lick of emotion scared me. No one should be able to speak of such heartache and not feel the need to cry or grow angry. Hell, I kept a smile on my face, because it was the only way tears wouldn't stream down my face. Always forcing myself to show an emotion that I was nowhere close to feeling, an emotion that my heart had become foreign to.

But him. He had become so accustomed to the feeling of dreadfulness that not only could he speak of it as if it was regular conversation, but he hid that look of sadness so well behind his anger that you'll never know how he really feels.

We are two souls alike though, so I know the truth.

"So I have a question for you."

"Shoot." He mumbled throwing a weathered rock into the water.

I was nervous to ask, yet, the question sitting at my lips had to have an answer. It's been eating at me since the moment I laid eyes on him.

"Do you-Do you cry sometimes?"

"Nope." He answered, but of course I could see right through him.

He probably cried every night just as I did and threw a fit every morning when the sun's morning rays hit his eyes, simply because— his wish was to not be here to see the next day.

"You don't have to lie to me anymore, I told you, I see all of your pain. It's identical to mine." I smiled.

"Aye man, look, we cool and all but youn' know shit about me and I'm tie'd of sayin' dat' shit. So keep dat' sentimental poetic shit ova' thea'."

"I was just asking a question." I mumbled lowly.

"And I was juss' tellin' you ta' shut da' fuck up." He replied in my same mumbling tone.

After that small exchange silence soon fell between us, which is a bad thing because my head starts to fill up with the same evilness that I try to escape. Us just sitting here wasn't going to cut it for me. I hadn't taken my medicine and it was going to show if we continued on like this in silence.

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