"And who was there for me when I was breaking down? I am not a Madonna. I am not a saint, I am not without vices flaws, and fears. And what happens when I can't control it? What happens when I can't hide it anymore? Who is going to try and soothe my heart? Who is going to comfort me? Or should I remain silent and just take it, like I usually do? like I always do? Should I just let it eat away at my heart?
You speak of me as if I was a cure to all of your ailments. As if I was not able to break down or be hurt when you're silent for months when you disappear and I have no goddamn idea of where you are and what you're doing. When you're so far away I can only pray for your safe return because I can't sleep at night. I can't when I imagine Arthur would come to me and tell me you're dead. I can't when I can see our son cry his eyes out because he saw your dead body in the streets. I can't because I know what you're looking for and why you're trying too damn hard to die.
The only thing that crosses my mind on nights like these, is why I failed you. What didn't I do to help you? How could I let you suffer in silence, long enough for you to try to join your loved ones on the other side? the only thing that crosses my mind is that I didn't love you enough because if I did... you'd feel better....So don't tell me that I'm your guardian angel. Don't tell me that I am a saint. Don't tell me that I have helped you when I can clearly see you're breaking down too.... so... I ask again... when all is said and done, who is going to comfort me when I am breaking down?"
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