Today, you'll probably take sleeping pills and go to sleep again, muttering that you're a has-been. It makes my heart ache to think that I'm the only one left to take care of you.

It's not a chore. It's not out of pity. It's because I love you.

That's why I hate those people who swarmed you like flies, only looking at the bright side of your light.

Because I know how hard you've worked.

To me, you're not just some broken speaker.

Knock, knock, knock

Guest? Are you in there?