Literature
Everyday I smile.
"We're all dying, you know."
"Dying? What are you talking about? I feel pretty alive."
"On the inside, we are all slowly dying; from our emotions, our fears, our regrets; our one-sided loves."
"You should talk to him, at least try."
"It's no use, he doesn't see me. He doesn't know I'm alive."
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I saw them. I did, I swear. I tried looking away; I tried believing what I didn't see.
They were holding hands, they were kissing, they were smiling, they were happy.
I want to smile, I want to be happy.
I want love.
I walked away, trying not to cry.
But he saw me, all red and puffy; he sa