I could feel it go down.

I miss the indescribable charm of weakness. Being strong is something held on a pedestal only for the weak, and the weak are the most deserving of strength, and yet, it is not given to them. I'm tired, I shouldn't care, but I do. So I'll cry for myself and for you. I'll cry for the pain that we share, and the suffering that we bare on our shoulders. I'm missing something. I taste it in my mouth, and I hear it all the time. It's you, its me, its what I used to be.