Still up all night.

A gun I've never seen, a story I wish I made up and a mother left alone with a newborn baby. Almost nineteen years later and I'm finally starting to realize I'm playing the same game she did. As long as she could, she kept it up. She made it eleven years before the plywood pedestal that she built up for us collapsed. I'm not sure if she knew it wasn't strong enough and knew it would all fall apart or if she just covered it up and kept it under the sheet intentionally to protect me. Maybe it surprised her too because I know I didn't see it coming. I hear this awful echo in my head sometimes and maybe one day I'll write about it more specifically. I'm use to losing it all, including my mind and myself. Maybe if I could go back I could have saved us. Then reality hits, how the hell was an eleven year old supposed to pick everything up? For those of you who have suffered your own hell, I'm sorry. For those of you who bleed, I'm human too. But don't give up. Somehow, somewhere, something is out there. It will always be out there and will find you, me and everyone we know. And it will guide us along, blindly.