My Thoughts

New File

I dig the pen into my arm and I write out a few words. I keep the thought of them in my head and drop the pen back onto the table. My fingers dig into the side of my neck. Slow, rough cuts. My fingers lay down onto the table. I lean over the table. She rests a hand on my arm and I look at her then back down at the keyboard. I push her hand off and I grab the mouse. A new file. Another new file. I could fix the old one but why do that when I can copy and paste the problem in here and just let it spread. Ctrl C. Ctrl Z.

I lean back and look at what I've done. Tears tumble from my eyes and I cover them with my right hand. My elbow rests on the table and I act like I'm leaning on my hand for support. But she knows.

Why do this if you know it hurts. Why push yourself through each day if it hurts. Why get up in the morning if your entire purpose is running off of not understanding? Just because you don't Get it and you have this complex to find out what happens in the next day. Will I get what I want. Probably not. I sit and I tap the pen against the stable impatiently. Just stop trying. She doesn't care. Nobody does. They might be hurt for a few days but after that no one Cares. Its old news.

Yet if she was in hospital on her death bed I can imagine what would happen. Holding her hand, sat next to her trying to be strong and hod back tears while pushing out the last words of have on this breath. I push out every syllable, every loving word, every single bit of life I have in me to try and make her happy before she goes. Though I doubt shed say nothing but, I hope you get better. Is it bad I want to get these diseases that could kill me. Is it bad I want to have her next to me while I'm on the verge of lie and death. Just so I could see. Just so I could see what she'd do. What she'd say. How she'd feel.