I've Fallen Apart |
I’ve fallen apart. There are shreds of me all over the place. I’ve stayed this way for who knows how long. Time has no meaning.
You left me alone. Before you I had friends, and after you, I still had friends. But apparently friends aren’t forever, because here I am with no one left.
I came back to you because I knew who you were. I knew I loved you, and I had you once more. I was finally happy again. So obviously there was something wrong. If ever I’m happy, there always is.
You gave me hope, a silver lining around my dark cloud of all the things dark and ugly. For the first time in nine long years, I thought I could actually love you. But now I know. I never can, and true love doesn’t really matter anymore.
It seems like so long ago, that first time we kissed. Your lips were cold, your hands were ice, but somehow I found warmth.
It seems like so long ago, that first time you told me how much you loved me. With those words came no breath, yet they took mine away.
It seems like so long ago, that first time you showed me how much you loved me. You were kind and gentle, you made sure I knew it was out of love, and that it was all for me. That first night—that only night—I had never been so alive, never so happy. I knew I wouldn’t be able to live my life without you, I would die the day you did, if it ever happened. I didn’t care about eternal life. I didn’t care about my duties. All I cared about was you.
But then you turned on me. You killed me. You wrapped you words around my neck and twisted with all your might. I fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. My body stood there as you left that room. I tried to tell you one last thing: I love you. But it proved worthless. The words of my body meant nothing.
There was no pain, no screaming in agony. My soul simply fell ice cold to the floor of your apartment that day.
Then, with whatever it was that I had left, I hated you. I had to. It was all I could do. I couldn’t feel anything, I had to pretend to care when anything happened. My emotions weren’t numb—they just weren’t there. I simply felt nothing.
But for a moment, you came back to me. You were there again, holding me, protecting me. My emotions was also back at that moment.
They seemed strange, almost foreign. I wasn’t sure what they were at first, but then I knew. Love, happiness, sheer joy. I remembered it all. I kissed you. You were back. Yes, my Angel was back and nothing else mattered.
But I couldn't let you hurt me like you did before. So I did what I had to do.
After that it was nothing like it had been before. It was awkward. I still loved you, but I couldn’t prove it. We could never go there again. There was no way, I knew that. So I lost you again, for the time that I thought was the last.
There were pieces of me every where, my room…it was so dirty. I should clean it up, I thought. Oh, screw the mess. So what if I'm lying in pieces all over the room? Anyone who would’ve cared was gone.
So there I stayed. It was gross, it started to stink. Why couldn’t I bring myself to pick up the mess that was me? Why couldn’t I move on? What the Hell was wrong with me? Eight years, that mess stayed there.
How much pain did I have to endure before I could be happy without any consequences?
But then the thought crossed my mind: Maybe I’ve suffered enough.
So I gathered up my scraps and left. Maybe in an another place I’d have the strength to pull myself back together.
Then you came back, took me away, held me. I was safe.
And now I’m alone. Here I lie. I haven’t eaten anything, haven’t drinken anything, I haven’t slept at all.
I guess I haven’t suffered enough. I never will.
All I can do is lie here. Lie here and smell your sheets, taste your presence, hear you words that echo about the room, and feel the warmth that never was. All I can do is lie here and feel sorry for myself, and angry with you. I’ll never get to tell you how much I hate you. Or worse, I’ll never get to tell you that no matter how much I hate you, no matter how alone I feel now that you left me, I’m always going to be in love with you.
I can’t stop. I want to; maybe it would make the pain go away. All I can do is lie on your bed and wait to die.
I’m going in circles. I’m sorry about the mess in your room; I’m in shreds all over the place. It looks so gross. I’m going to have to gather up the pieces of me you left behind and build myself a new life that doesn’t include you. Either that, or die.
Death seems pointless, unworthy of my pain. Of course, so does a life without you.
I choose death.
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