Sad Stories/Poetry

His Life For Mine

When the wind met my face, I never thought that I'd still be thinking about him after he left me in such threads. It felt like a flood of water overwhelmed my poor soul. I could have sworn I left this behind me. This was three years back when I still clung to the dirty shirt that joined our broken hearts together. Apparently, I wasn't good enough for him, so he left me in a torn scarlet dress at the end of Ferry Valley, where my parents laughed at me and called me an idiot. They weren't wrong or anything, no.

I definitely did not burst out in tears and question my existence. I did not leave my dignity and world behind out of shame. Although I tried to stop the tears, they just kept coming and coming over and over again. My mouth dried up because of all the shouting. It no longer let out the laughs or the words he used to love from my "beautiful voice". 

I'm just waiting for the day where self-pity doesn't swallow up my world. But my inner demons just keep telling me I'm never gonna move on. Cause he was the only person that once genuinely loved me. And he left although he said he would not. He proved my overthinking thoughts right and just laughs like it's funny. He really turned to me and said, "Go have a one-night stand. You'll feel a lot better after, trust me." Trust him. I laughed, as my mind told me to push him off the cliff that was nearby. He wouldn't have died anyway.

I scrolled through the pictures that we took that last night. When he kissed me and told me he loved me. And I fell for yet another lie. He sabotaged my whole life.

The memories of the hospital, and the dream flashed back through my mind. It's what drove me insane on most days when I wasn't occupied. When my brain was not filled with work, school, graduation, or college. Most times I just zone out for an hour or two in the rain or the hot penetrating sunlight. 

The days when I lay on his grave and think, what if this went differently. Or what if he told me about his illness. That the day he proposed to me was his last day. That the day he lay on his hospital bed was our wedding day that he planned all along with the red and white roses. When his hand fell out of mine. When his tongue gave mine one last caress. 

I forced myself not to cry, as it became more difficult not to follow right behind him. Not to give up. Oh, how he begged me to stay alive when I held the kn!fe to my throat on his second to last night. I shook my head and giggled as I remembered his little sobs as he curled up in my arms and made me promise for the millionth time to never take up a next knife or blade. 

The music in my earphones started to get lower and the sun started to set as I lay next to his gravestone. 

"Remember the time we used to hate each other?"