Sometimes

Sometimes the quietness of my room gets to be too much.

Sometimes the dark presses in and all of the thoughts in my head get louder.

Sometimes my bed seems a little too empty and the darkess crushes in so much, I'm forced to face things I don't want to.

Sometimes it gets to be too much, the holding in of emotions, the pretending things are just fine, that I cry myself to sleep.

Sometimes I can't sleep at all. The pain of my broken heart too much to bear.

Sometimes the crying acts as a way of purging. Letting it out. Getting all of it out.

Sometimes, I can leave things in the past.

Sometimes, starting over the next day, no matter how little sleep I had the night before, is the best medicine for my soul.