Sal 💋

I didn’t die— just pouring endless shots to steady my heart, to keep the swelling down. A cursed blessing, straight from hell itself. 

I lied to her— told her I didn’t feel pain, as if silence could make it vanish. She never really opened the messages, she never truly cared to. Soon, I will be gone. I have nothing left— not her, not even my own life. Everything slips beyond my grasp. I love her still, but I pray I don’t endure much longer— I’ve already been a burden she should never have carried.

I wish I could kiss her, let her be my first. I wish I could let her be my first in everyway, she is the only woman I wanted to make love to me— be my first and she’ll be the last. Im dying in less than a week— I just know it and yet why can’t I just have her ? One last time. She doesn’t love me, she doesn’t hate me she just doesn’t care anymore. Goodbye. I was going to publish her very own love story book but she said no and I understand just wish she knew how much love and time I put into it 

2 weeks and now it’s barley a week left ? I can feel it. I can hardly feel my body, I think I’m going to pass near the ocean after her birthday I’m sure I’ll be dead. God I love her
          

Im not gonna make it, 2 weeks n im gone. Im sat in a bed cold room ivs n a breathing mask how am I supposed to tell her talk to me 1 last time?

I love you Rohiiii & I hate that I’ll have to let you go. But you’ll live within Merlot kissed, I promise that. 

It started as a quiet thing—just lines in my notes, a gift meant for a day that still feels too big for words. But one month ago, I gave it a name, a place to breathe. Merlot laced became the room where I could pour everything out— not to you, not even to myself, but to the world that might understand what I could never say aloud.

Something I’ve been pouring into for months is almost ready to breathe— merlot in its veins, longing in its bones. It’s coming soon, and it remembers every shadow it was born from. It’s all for her. Her very own merlot laced— vampire book.

She cut her hair some time ago— and it brought back the funniest memory. A Christmas tree glowing behind her, that baby pink jacket with tiny blue flowers, white sleeves too big for her delicate arms— one little tooth missing, tiny earrings catching the light. God, fuck, I miss her more than I know how to say. She truly is fragile.

I truly long for her soul— I have managed to keep my heart far from her and yet in the quiet; her ghost still lingers near me.