I try, really try. So hard that tears somehow find their way past my lashes and onto my skin. I can taste them when I breathe in, salty and sad. I can't seem to best this part of me. No matter how many skirmishes I win, the battle seems downhill and hopeless. What is it about me that keeps holding onto this piece, refusing to set it free, refusing to be whole without it? Every time I think I have bested it, it appears beside me in the mirror, mocking my confidant smile, bringing me back down.
I am sorry that I can't be more.
