Back to me

I want it all back: from the cold nights to the skipping heart beats. I want it back. I want my tears back—from when my love died to the countless times I have banged and bruised my head. I want my parents screaming at me because I am being mischievous, when I’m laughing on the inside because I have no intention of changing. I want my friends concerned about me. I want someone crying, begging god for me to be okay. I want it back. I want to cry over sad movies. I want to be afraid of dying. I want my hands to tremble, not from fear but from being emotional. I want to be upset over every day fights. I want to talk—freely. I want my veins to struggle to let my blood flow. I want my heart to have to work twice as hard to beat half as slow. I want it back. I want it all back. I want my innocence back. I want you back.