Once, there was a girl. She was bright eyed and full of dreams and hopes and so many expectations.
Very early she found out that she was broken, sometimes she felt like she was a puzzle piece in the wrong box. Because that how it was she never fit in it always seemed to be the wrong picture and when she asked god she never got an answer.
When she was thirteen she lost her naivity and most of her believes. She realized most people would use you and then get bored. Then they'd hurt you.
Hope wouldn't die though, hope was such a cruel thing and hope would only hurt so much more.
When she realized what it meant to be broken she hurt other people and herself, never hold on to friends, she was so good at losing them maybe that was why god never answered.
Far away, she thought.
Maybe that will be my box, maybe I'll fit.
But farway was so much the same. Even with dreams that were so much more careful, even with so much more effort, because now her friends would die or just not be there anymore.
Maybe it's because she's broken, hurting so many without even meaning to, never fitting and eventually the hope was gone and she cried.
Not that there's anything left now.
Only words and they're not good enough.
No one will understand them.