I remember

story

I’ll never forget those words, the ones that slipped out of your mouth, without thinking. You are the reason the world is slipping through my finger tips. I try to grasp on the rope we call life but with each passing second, I lose more grip, becoming weak and tired; wanting to let go. You are the little rock that broke down my concrete walls. You never thought how much this would hurt me, did you? Or did you just not care?

They say when your life flashes before your eyes, the most important memories show up to which impacted you the most; events, places, and people.  Your life plays as a movie, but ends abruptly, leaving you to your death. This event allows you to taste the last sweet you will ever encounter, until darkness takes you away.

I sit in this room, with her, with my last memories, taking my last breaths, thanks to the words given to me before.  For you to say sticks and stones hurt more than words we get told is a corrupted lie and will shatter under your tongue.  All I wanted was to be appreciated, to be wanted.

-          6 months prior   -

I stumble my way towards the burnt orange coloured door and run my fingers through my wavy chestnut brown hair. Flames begin bursting through my stomach and dashing through my arms, causing me to shake. Slowly, I lift one hand to the door, and carefully turn the knob, hoping to create no noise, as the other grasps the bouquet of roses roughly.   I then peer inside, and see a head filled with long, blonde, straight hair, peeking from above the couch, but she isn’t alone. Another head is attached to the girls, moving side to side, with nameless figures stroking through her hair; roughly and passionately. With complete shock, I lose grip of the flowers, letting them drop to the ground, leaving a trail of questions and pain behind it. Both heads detach at the sound of the flowers, and dart over to where my ghostly figure stands. Nothing but our hollow breaths cover the agony that floods the depths of my chest. Questions run through my mind on a continuous track but never stop to retrieve a painless answer, because there is none. The one that I love and whom loves me, or so I thought, was sharing secrets filled with adoration and affection, exchanged by the lips of one another. As we all exchange confused and hurt stares, the thin faced, blonde girl speak up.

“C-Christian... What are you doing here?”  She mutters out as if she’s at loss for words and stares into my cerulean blue eyes, but with the tone of her voice she makes it appear as if this doesn’t even faze her.

“It’s our one year anniversary, Morgan.  So I, uh, I decided to come over and surprise you with flowers... But I guess you’re busy.” I reply and glue my eyes to the ground, knowing the moment my eyes meet hers, raindrops will spill from mine.  I hear a sigh escape from her cheating lips.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, I just didn’t know how to.” Morgan groans. “Christian, honestly, I have never loved you; I just liked your undivided attention. You aren’t my type, not by any means. You’re so awkward, you’re not exactly good at anything you do, and you’re fat as hell. You look like an obese cow, and frankly, it’s disgusting.”  She explains in such monotone that it crushes my heart into endless pieces. Each word that she spat out, crumbled me bit by bit, until I stood there, being nothing but a mute soul.

Without thought, I ran out the door, leaving the flowers and my heart behind.  Her words play through my head like a broken record.  “fat”, “disgusting”, and “not good” flood my mind, as if the track broke on those words. I sprint further away from the house in which she locked all her lies and secretes from me, but soon became tired and breathless.

Standing there, I realized that Morgan was right. I am fat, and with anything I ever try to do, it corrupts underneath me, and causes more damage than good. To say I am enough is merely pathetic, and if you think otherwise, you clearly haven’t analyzed my life. I’m a piece of shit.