Words We Cannot Speak

I saved a life

The day before.
I knew you were going to go through with IT, of that, I was unequivocally certain.
You told me not to tell but I couldn't not because IT would forever eat me alive.

Maybe my actions were all selfish in retrospect but at the time they were intended to have been selfless.
So I opened my mouth, choked on my words, choked on my breath but managed to explain IT.

I sat and cried in that chair harder than I have ever cried in my life, harder than when my parents split.
They brought you in and the world felt as if it were ending and I tried to apologise but apparently I didn't need to; I think I did.

When asked how I was feeling, I remember saying "I'm just so scared" and someone told me that there is no certainty whether anyone can be safe day to day from IT.

I couldn't look you in the eye, couldn't bare to see disappointment or hatred there.
But you were grateful, relieved and others were proud and I was scared.
I saved a life that day.

But we can't be friends anymore and, for that, I am sorry.

Are you better now?
Because I sure as hell aren't.

It would be ironic to think that you have improved and I've deteriorated;
in all honesty, that's all I want for you.
-holly boyd