“I guess I’m just broken” I looked at him through my tears. He held my hand and rubbed my back. Not sure if this comfort was helping or making things harder. I truly felt broken from the time I’m still struggling with processing.
“I don’t feel real” he tried to reassure me that I was, laughing it off as we laid in the sun. I squinted back at him with light spots reflecting in my eyes. How could he be so sure? His hand felt real intertwined with mine. I closed my eyes and thought back to the moments I felt most alive. They were childhood memories before the substances took priority over many things in my life. Before I felt this broken.
The Pomfrey Post 