The book of meaningless words

don't leave me

Something died inside me that day...

The day you came to pick me up from the ward.

I had my bags packed, hoping—expecting—that you'd be there to rescue me. I couldn't stand another day in that place.

When you arrived, tears streamed down your face.

That's when I knew something was wrong.

You screamed, I screamed, we cried together. It was a storm of raw, messy emotion, and I clung to your leg, desperate.

Don't leave me.

Please.

I couldn't breathe, gasping for air between sobs. Then, suddenly, two nurses grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me away from you.

You stopped crying. And you walked away.

The nurses held me tight, but I fought—screamed until my voice broke. But it was to no use.

On my knees, I watched you glance back at me one last time before shutting the door behind you.

You left me there.

And in that moment, the child inside me lost his mother, forever.