These Tears I Cry

Not Even Time Can Heal

This story is dedicated to anyone going through a hard time and my closest friend and boyfriend,
Jackson Curtis <3

Many years ago I was stabbed in the back by someone I felt I could trust. Not one person will know the despondency of getting cheated on unless you have been. The pain of how you feel you can't trust anyone. How you feel that you can't even trust your own mother let alone your closest friends. The world becomes a blur and you are scarred with something that not even time can heal. Not even the happiest person can help becoming depressed. It's like a black cloud that rolls over and rains on people's parades, creating melancholy events that ruin lives. This opinion is obviously biased for the fact that I am one of the many victims of that rolling cloud.

I moved to England in a hope to leave my past and everything about me behind. As soon as I turned eighteen I packed my bags and ran to London without telling my parents nor friends. I changed my number in a hope that they could not reach me. I moved to a small flat where I live alone, slowly draining my money by rent. For the storm is gone yet the aftermath lies not only on the surface but deep within. I haven't had social contact with anyone in more than six months and the last time was when I went to the store to buy cheese as a birthday present to myself. I may be lonely but I do not want to risk having my heart broken even more than it is. My soon-to-have-been wife was an amazing catch. Most nights I cry myself to sleep thinking about her. Other nights I get too dehydrated to even let out so much as a tear. I tried to stop the anger but it only made things worse for I often enrage myself by my in capabilities to stop being a washed up ugly son of a b---No. I swore myself not to get angry. Why am I not even smart enough to control my own emotions? It's elementary.

Today is my birthday. Today I do not only celebrate the day I was born but another year of being depressed and another year without Amelia. Oh, how she changed my life for the greater but now for the worse. I need to get back out there. Out to the real world. Have a cup of coffee or something. Make a new friend. This idea sounded greater than it ever had before.

I put on my jacket as well as my shoes. I check for my wallet and hail a cab. I can't believe I'm going to meet my new best friend!

I short ride later, I thank the cabbie and tip him. I walk to the rustic shop lined with flowers. The open sign gives off a light glow contrasting with the darker colors used. The door pushes open with a slight resistance due to rust. The shop isn't crowded but there is a decent amount of people there. I order my coffee and while it's brewing I slide into a chair across from a ginger haired woman.

After a long thirty seconds, of what I thought to be a staring contest, she leaves. Now I'm left alone. Again. I push my head into my hands and bury my face within them. The shame I feel is greater than no other. I start hitting my hands on my head. Over and over. Each time getting louder and harder. People start to stare. I continue. I hear footsteps grow nearer and soon there's a hand on my shoulder. I stop, my hands covered in blood. The woman has brunette hair, with a concerned smile plastered on her face. She motions to the back room, I follow. The woman pushes me on the counter. My face stings as the water leaks from my eyes to my cheeks.
"Now what's wrong with you?" She asks examining me. She didn't even seem scared, more calm than anything.
"Now this is going to sting a bit." The woman said as she put a damp towel on my head. It hurt, but I was used to pain. Pain was an old friend of mine.