I can feel cold whenever we fight. It must be cold, because no matter the temperature, my skin is always raised slightly. My spine sharpens. It's always the same issue. Not even an issue, a person...how could I be so callous? I know my back's to the wall; it would be different if the wall could move. And I find myself writhing in immaturity and a deep contempt that always seems to surface, just to hang on to a sense of normalcy, a chance to accept. Not to accept is just not fair...I've tried so hard. Why should I have to try harder than I am able? So, now it's different, because maybe it'll get better. Maybe. Until then, I just fill in the cracks; tomorrow they won't see daylight.