I deleted six. It was too painful to write. So I skipped it. Too painful to remember. So I forgot it.
That pain still lingers though. I may not have written it. I may not have spoken it. But it's still there.
The words and visions etched into my mind. Every single flower in the field. Every single drop of rain.
It's soaked into my skin. The sent burnt into my nose. I can still smell the smoke. That stupid cigarette you burnt onto my skin.
When I'm alone it wisps through the air. Triggering my thoughts. You. You're why I'm like this. If only I could have been somewhere else.
If only I could be someone else. If only my heart weren't so torn. If only my skin weren't so scarred.
If only. If only. If only. If only.
Why is it an if. Why couldn't it be. I wish it were reality. Maybe in another life I'm pretty.
Maybe in another like I'm kind. Maybe in another life I'm loved. Maybe I'm a better person.
A better daughter.
But I'm not. I'm nothing. I'm no one. I'm broken. I'm hurt. I'm not okay.
