• Day one.
    Who knows what she was thinking.

    Week one.
    She gave up.
    I guess actions do speak louder than words.

    Year one.
    Strangers keep me, most likely hoping that soon they will be rid of me.

    Year two.
    Finally, I'm wanted
    For the first time in my life.

    I will most likely never know what she was thinking or what he was.
    They were probably happy to give me up.
    How should I know?
    I've never meet them and even if I did, would they want to meet me?
    So much pain is caused when people bring it up.
    I tell them I'm fine, but all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry until... Until something happens.
    I don't know what, it could cause me more pain, but I already have so much. Why would it matter?
    I would give the world to know who they are, to meet them.
    But then again, I would rather have never found out in the first place.
    I will always live in some sort of darkness because of it.
    I hope they are happy.
    So very happy.
    Because I never will be.