muse

letters unwritten

Muse,

I promised myself, I would leave some letters unwritten. Or better yet, written, and in the bowels of my computer. Or in a box. Or between notebook covers. I promised myself there would be some letters you would never read. It's funny that the only promises I break are the ones I made to myself. 

Muse,

This is what it looks like to care too much about messy people. This is what it looks like to never be able to let go. It’s only a matter of time before the sweating and the shaking and the eventual disassociation with reality and all things alike, I don’t want you to see me that way. I don’t ever want you to see me that way.

Do you know what it feels like to not be able to save someone? What it feels like to be at fault, or worse yet, not to be? He didn’t need to die physically to die emotionally, you know. Just because he still speaks and smiles and laughs doesn’t mean he’s okay, look at his wrists again. Look, I dare you. I dare you to tell me he’s okay now and that he won’t do that ever again even though this is not the first time. Do you know what it feels like to have been able to stop that? Do you know what it feels like to fail?

Just because there are people telling me I did the right thing doesn’t make it true, it doesn’t make it okay and it doesn’t make it hurt less. Doesn’t stop the insomnia or the nightmares when I finally can close my eyes, doesn’t stop the heavy breathing and the racing of my heart, it doesn’t make anything stop. It just makes it worse, because you don’t understand, it could have been better, I could have done better,

He’s going to have permanent scarring, you know.

He is always going to carry that losing battle with him, and so is anyone who ever knows what those scars were from. From a knife to a boy, he wrote a letter to his future self, reminding him that he will never quite feel comfortable in his own skin. Never quite feel loved or be able to trust, I know how that feels. Do you?

Do you even understand the level of desperation… and how much it’s intensified when you’re the last lifeline? Will you ever understand why I’ll never quite get over it? No, of course not. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, so please,

Please.... Please just know why I still sweat and still shake, please know why I still cry myself to sleep, please know that it's not an exaggeration. Please know that when he tried to kill himself, it felt like both of us died. 

If he can bleed, then so can I.

Carrillo.