Death by a Thousand Cuts

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events and incidents are either parts of the author's imagination used in a fictions manner. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Plagiarism is a crime, punishable by the law.

This story is unedited, so expect typo, graphical errors and grammatical errors.

All rights reserved 2020

Copyright © Izd5rkinh3re

I can't claim what is not mine.

I can't even claim you.

But every time someone mention your name with the amount of love that could match mine, my chest is filled with knife that crashed me piece by piece, that even your smile won't mend those shattered pieces especially when I am aware that those smiles that you've given me was really not for me. They were meant for someone whose more fragile, stable, soft, outspoken and meticulously made, someone whose flaws were as gorgeous as how her eyes glimmer like the ray of sunshine just by looking at you; someone who will never be me. Those hands of yours that are holding mine aren't made to caress my hair, even your chest is not for me to lie on and to listen to your heartbeat, nor your arms which I want to cling when I want someone to hold on to, those tantalizing brown eyes do not belong to me so I could take a glimpse of your soul, hoping that someday it will speak my name, and your voice is not meant to take away my pain.

I can't claim what isn't mine from the start.

Neither I can't claim your love for me.

But I want to.