Saturday, May 1
Today, it seemed to hit me just a little bit harder.
I'm not happy in this anymore.
Maybe I don't want this anymore.
I begged for you not to give up, but you said you already have. And that alone, destroyed my heart.
I don't want this anymore.
I sit on our bed, with the palm of my hand on my chest
Feeling the thumps of what's left of my heart as it pumps the remainder of blood around a fragile shell we call a body.
And I think to myself, why didn't they warn us about the angels who knew how to siren you into their love?
The angels who knew how to make your heart race so fast it could burst out your chest with just a flash of their smile.
The angels who knew how to make this dark, cruel world seem a little brighter, a little nicer, when their arms welcomed you home.
Why didn't they warn me about you?
YOU ARE READING
21 days.
Short StoryA journal. A pen. A heartbreak. A path to recovery. Not all drugs are in the form of a pill or a stick. Sometimes, it's brown eyed, kissed-swollen lips and a thumping heart.
