I think the thing that terrifies me the most is that one day, you'll be the story I'll tell my daughter, when shes curled up in bed, wrapped up in blankets and heartbreak, when she hasn't eaten anything in days hut the voicemails he left her, when hasn't been able to sleep because of goodbyes that broke her shatters her bones all over again; every time she closes her eyes. And I'll climb into bed with her and she'll lay her head on my lap and I'll try to brush him out of her hair and her tears will soak through my shirt, and I'll tell her about the boy I met when I was thirteen, who made me smile every second of every day, who I fell in love with after two weeks, who saved me, but who also destroyed me. And I'll tell her about how it hurt. It hurt so badly it almost killed me. It hurt so badly my mother stopped going to work so she could stay home and make sure I didnt take too many pills. But finally; I'll tell her about how it got better. How it stopped hurting. How my arms stopped bleeding. How my scars started to heal. My mom went back to work. I got out of bed. But I wont tell her that sometimes I still have dreams about you and can hardly breathe the next day or about the pictures of you I still have hidden in the attic. I wont tell her that I still love you.
~~ excerpt from a book I'll never write #3
