As the blood from my wrist dripped onto the still, white, paper I wrote:
Thank you. Thank you for ending it all. I didn't notice all the pain, and sorrow, you brought me until you left. I'm not mad, not even that you left me for her. And honestly, I still love you, but you don't care. You don't see me as I fall apart more and more each day. You don't see me drown in the sea of people, as you hold her in your arms; safe from everyone. I know she's better, and I wish I could be good enough for you. I guess I just want to be loved. In fact, I want to be loved so bad, that I would carve the word "love" into my skin, and watch the blood trickle onto this very paper. But I will be okay, because even after all this I am still here. I am resillient. I will take your punches and stand again. I won't always be as strong as an oak, but I will remain in the ground like the willow. And even if I break, or crack, I will stay. And I will take it, because I am resillient, and that is good.
Signed,
Maeve
YOU ARE READING
How to Know
RomanceHow do you know when to stop? When it's time to move on? Does it just hit you like a bullet? Or is it like a slow knife, where it takes time to seep in? Someone tell me, I don't know what to think anymore. I guess it's just hard to let go sometimes...
