you're the quicksand that you're stuck in.

I’m glad that it was never going to be you. 
I think about the possibility of a life doomed with someone who spent every moment stuck in their head, refusing to chisel away at the cement wall keeping him locked inside himself, and it makes me sick. 

Someone who has never moved on from anything, 
and who took it out on me instead. 
Someone who, despite every opportunity, resisted help, and thought it made him a man. 
I see now how that was a scared little boy sleeping next to me,
but I don't feel sympathetic. 
I feel disgusted.