Sean Burdett’s review published on Letterboxd:
100 Years 88/646
15. Lost. Every day I'm waiting for tomorrow because that's when I'll figure it out. Nothing changes. I disappear further within myself, losing myself to things removed from reality. Over and over and over and over. I'm always waiting for tomorrow. Then it will get better. Not now, but soon. It will get better, I know it will because it has to. It never does. Nothing changes, nothing gets better, deeper and deeper I fall.
Something changes. I meet a girl. I can't explain who I am because I've never done so before. Fragmented. Pieces of myself distorted and hidden, but now someone is there. It's strange, this is different. She listens to me, she understands me, she sees me. She sees me. She sees me, and that's all that matters. She is there. I don't say anything because I can't, but I want to. She sees me. Tomorrow never comes and it never gets better but now someone sees me.
Someone knows me now. It feels so much better, but it's still so wrong. Tomorrow never comes and it never gets better, but something happens. One day something happens that hasn't before. I'm stuck inside myself, but I let her see a little. I'm afraid, but she doesn't run. She's still there, she still is beside me. So I let her see more and more, and she always stays. There's always more until one day there isn't. She's seen it all, she knows me and she doesn't run. I'm seen and I'm breathing. Tomorrow comes, it gets better. I see outside myself, and I see the world for what it is, beautiful.
She's gone now, but that's okay. She was there when I needed it the most. I was seen, and tomorrow came. Now, tomorrow always comes.