Fuck the date on this one.
Tear. I like the word. It could mean salty water falling from your eye, or material being split into either tiny pieces, large pieces, or simply in halves. Yet, sometimes when you tear things they don't tear completely.
I forgot exactly how many nights ago I decided to start tearing things apart. I tore up a quote from Skylar. A quote that I treasured from a person I treasured, and I tore it to shreds. I was furious that she left me. I was furious that when she left there was silence and uncertainty. She never said what happened. She never told me good bye. She was just GONE! I can't even hate her for it because she is one of my closest friends. Never met her, never will be able to, because as far as I know: she's fucking dead, and the blood is on her own hands.
Then, today I found an old Valentine's Day card for my grandmother on my father's side. She long dead, died from cancer when I was young and innocent. Back then, I was still afraid of monsters under my bed, monsters hiding in the dark, monsters that would attack me when I was left alone. The innocence amuses me now, my innocent phobias of everything. Like the Joker once said, "Now I see the funny side. Now I'm always smiling." I smiled as I ripped that horrid card apart. The tears came as quickly to my eyes as the tears left my hands to the paper.
Speaking of tears from my hands- about an inch below the palm of my hand is a tear. Not like the tears on the quote or card, no, this tear goes deeper. This tear is red and scabbed. This is a self- inflicted tear in my skin. I grazed it with the blade more than once, but only this one remains. I remember the actual sound of the blade slowly splitting my flesh in half. It was truly intriguing, about at intriguing as the word tear.
It could mean salty water falling from your eye, or material being split into either tiny peices, large peices, or simply in halves. Yet, sometimes when you tear things they don't tear completely.
