The Only Reason (Muke)

I Wish I Had Amnesia

Luke's P.O.V

-

"I want to be alone,"

"You've been saying that for the past two days," he said, and I felt the bottom of the mattress dip low, meaning he sat down.

I curled up more under the covers, pulling them over my head, "Because I've wanted to be alone then, and I want to be alone now."

There was a low irritated groan before a soft sigh, "Luke, talk to me. Please?"

"I want to be alone," I said so softly it almost came out as a whisper.

Of course I didn't want to be alone. I was just stubborn. Explaining my feelings, and everything getting all depressing is just something I hate. I hate bringing down the atmosphere, and people's mood.

Another sigh was heard before I felt the bed get lighter as he got up, "Fine. If you need to talk, I'll be here in a second. I promise,"

I didn't know how to respond to his kindness, so as I stayed silent. He took that as his cue and I heard his footsteps on the wooden floor before my bedroom door shut.

I wanted to curl up so tighly that I suffocated myself. I didn't feel anything, and that's what I hated the most. It's one of those emotions where you don't care about anything besides making yourself feel again. The emotion where that if you try, you think you're going to fail, and it only gets worse.

I wanted to cry, but I didn't have the effort to. I wanted to scream, but the lump in my throat wouldn't let me. Breathing hurt my chest, so I wanted to stop.

I had no one. But that's honestly my fault. When I'm in this kind of mood, I shove everyone away.

My mind felt foggy, all kinds of bad thoughts clouding them. I hated this.

I wish I had amnesia

I took the cover off my head as the temperature got warm enough to be uncomfortable. I sighed, my gaze mindlessly trailing over to my desk, the abandoned journal and pen sitting on the surface of the hard wood.

I reached over and grabbed both, flipping to the nearest empty page. Writing had always somewhat made me feel better. It's like all my emotions flood through the pen and onto the page.

I drove by all the places we used to hang out getting wasted
I thought about our last kiss, how it felt the way you tasted
And even though your friends tell me you're doing fine
Are you somewhere feeling lonely even though he's right beside you?
When he says those words that hurt you, do you read the ones I wrote you?
Sometimes I start to wonder, was it just a lie?
If what we had was real, how could you be fine?
'Cause I'm not fine at all
I remember the day you told me you were leaving
I remember the make-up running down your face
And the dreams you left behind you didn't need them
Like every single wish we ever made

I stopped as my hand suddenly felt cold. I reread the words before closing the journal and hazily placing it back on the desk.

I turned on my side and shut my eyes. I'll forget if I sleep. I like that.