The greatest thing about nobody being home was that I could play my music with no distractions.
I could close my eyes and strum the guitar, close my eyes and fall deep into the melody of a slow, soft song
I didn't know what song to play. I didn't know what tune my new song should have, either.
Should it be fun, loud, catchy?
Or should it be slow, emotional, meaningful?
My fingers softly strummed the strings, they ran across the board swiftly and delicately.
Without realising my mouth opened and words fell out.
"I never imagined... oh I never imagined you to be like this. Drowning yourself and drugs, starving yourself to be a perfect somebody."
I snapped open my eyes and reached for a pencil. It was amazing how when I really put my heart in it, my thoughts would be turned into song... many lines of beautiful lyrics.
I hated music that was effortlessly put together.
Hated the music that had no meaning.
"Oh Amanda... so perfect, so beautiful yet so broken. I wonder why I love you so much. Could it be your brown hai-"
I groaned and snapped my notebook shut and threw it across the room.
Anger welled inside of me, although I didnt understand why.
Anger then turned into sadness. Then sadness turned into confusion.
For some unknown reason, dark, red blood dripped down my arm and onto my guitar.
Tears fell from my eyes as I put more pressure on the blade that was cutting deep into my skin.
It hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt
It hurt.
It hurt so much, but I couldn't stop. I wouldn stop.
What hurt me the most though was the fact I didnt know why I was doing it.
