Yes, I'm talking to you.
I have a bone to pick with you.
I don't like this. Not at all. Not one little bit.
This feeling of restlessness, of some vague unbalance.
Of something gone missing, or a tad out of place
Of looking around for the familiar - and finding the unwanted
Of waking up to forgetfulness, and the rising consciousness of reality
Of the expectation of laughter and calm - replaced by a jaded perspective
Of trying to figure out who I am - and coming across scattered pieces
This is not me. Or who I want to be. At all.
I need you to fix this. You are the only one can. The only one who can put these pieces of me back together.
You are the only one who knows how they fit.
After all, you are the one who shattered them with such careful consideration.