Love, Me

1.

Longing.

For you, my reader, it is of great happiness to me for you to open these pages. In the darkness of what is of my life, I will spread the only light I have left on these pages, although darkness may reach them in time.

There is no humor in my words, but laugh for the sake of your soul, and mine, so that my dead presence will soak up this laughter and that, that will make my day. Or maybe a fake day, since I'll be gone.

I won't start at the beginning, because I hate beginnings with a burning passion. A beginning to me is something that people expect, and the life I lived was something no one expected. So maybe a middle will do.

I guess by the time you read this I will be perished. Maybe it was my doing, or maybe he finally got a good enough hold on me. I will not know anymore, or be there to tell you. But my past self knows the truth, and no one can go into the past. My ending will forever remain a secret, for the killer and I to only know. Our little secret.

I didn't hate my life, but it wasn't anything worth living for. I had nothing worth living for. The only moments I charished were the ones in the woods, along with the beach, and sitting quietly in my closet when no one was home.

But when the house was no longer shared between just I, it was hell. Satan lived and bred in our walls and pissed his wrath on our floors. I don't know what possessed the man to do such things, but he wouldn't be the one to ask. If you asked me, it would be the alchohol.

He was always an addict to the liquid, and in some ways it seemed like he even bowed down to send prayers for it. It was the devil. Alchohol he drank was Anger's saliva, and it infected his blood and his brain. Poisoning him through.

The day I die will be great, a feeling of release from the wretched world I was birthed and forced upon. I will we done cowering and withering in fear. Yes, you will say I was a coward for not pulling through, and yes I was a coward. Even I feel pitiful and ashamed of being a weak character. I couldn't help myself. It was almost like a daze, and the dizzyness I felt kept me from doing what I wanted. And what I wanted was an escape. That is what I couldn't have.

In my lifetime, I will have not experienced being loved. Being held tightly in trusting arms, and kissed with passion. Yes I have been kissed, and held, but that experience doesn't count. Because for the past few years, I realized it was all fake. Like a dream.

You believe dreams while you're living them, because something in the back of your mind is telling you to hold on to the good moments, and save them for the bad. My good was used up, sucked dry. There was nothing left for me to hold onto, so I fell. I fell down fast and hard, knocking the precious oxygen from me. And with that, I was empty. It was a nightmare, not a dream.

Yes my life seems awful, but you won't know its awful unless you go through it yourself.

Love,

Me