3 am

I used to be happy.  It was so close and so real I was shocked by it.  I swore it would stay and that this time it would last and this morning more than ever recently I am thinking I was wrong, yet again.  I was asleep, I could not have done anything wrong and I was awoken and berated.  Yet another promise broken, another feather of hope floating away into the distance.  When all was said and done I received another apology.  The fact is that I am an apology collector, I am a promise collector.  I receive them quite frequently and I hold them close and even when they have lost their value I still hope, why do I hope?

 I fear I have nothing left.  I fear I have been turned into a shell once again.  I am so scared to get to that point again, to become hollow because it was practically impossible to fill myself up again.  Feeling nothing inside, as awful as it was, it was also a relief.  When you feel nothing you cannot be let down, you cannot collect apologies or promises; you are hollow there is no room to hang any hopes.  If I become hollow again, how will I possibly believe I will ever mend broken me?