The tiles were cool on your feet and the rain was drowning away all the reminders of the world outside the door.
I saw you stand above the polished marble and take the blade to your wrist and I wanted to scream and cry and pray but you couldn't hear me over the droplets of rain.
I waited with you.
I waited, helplessly, until your mother found your body lying on the scarlet-stained floor and oh god, i cried that night, louder than the storm brewing in the sky, as the house shuddered with my tears.
Your mother has since cleaned the floor countless times and the blood stain has been washed away with bleach, but every time I step into this room, i swear i can smell the blood and see the image of you lying motionless on the tile floors, and baby, that memory of that stormy day in July will never go away.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to Jessica
Ficção GeralBut as her eyes began to close And her temperature began to drop And the tears began to fall I did not say a word And as the black began to appear And the funeral began to start I found myself with a pen and paper I haven't stopped writing yet.
