I’m afraid if I’ll ever be able to ask these questions to anyone but myself. 

I’m depressed. I’m not sure. 

I don’t understand why my mom put me down that day and never picked me up again. I try to ask her but she might never be able to tell me the reason, I’m afraid she will just laugh it away.

Sometimes I try to ask my dad, why he stopped tying my shoe lace and that why he had stopped taking me to the bus stop but then courage is what stops me. 

I’ve tried thinking to myself why my brothers stopped taking me to a walk, why now nobody pulls my cheek, why the strangers stopped smiling at me when I walk by the lanes. 

I’m afraid if I’ll ever be able to ask these questions to anyone but myself. 

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