If I could write my own ending to this story, I wouldn't be so damaged. We'd probably be talking, instead of the awkward silence between us that only I seem to notice.
The fact is, mistakes were made. Things were done that can't be undone. But my soul is weak, and things worth having require standing up for, and lord knows I don't have solid knees.
When you hold me it's the only time I can feel my old heart beating. More than anything I'd want to tell you that I've only felt alive when you run your fingers across my skin. But I've been spending my time suppressing screams, I've been living with ghosts and getting strangled every night.
I want to have something to offer you, but I don't have anything to offer myself.
2 comments:
Reading this is so heart wrenching and so terribly familiar. It's beautiful and well spoken, but the scene you've painted is exactly where none of us want to be. Your writing is commended, but I deeply wish for you to find an escape from this pain soon. Feel better!
--Lena Grace
Thank you for the wonderful comment! That alone goes a long way in making me feel better (:
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